


Viva

by crowleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Doctor Castiel, M/M, Marriage, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stripper Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyo/pseuds/crowleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Castiel Novak swears he will never let his sister talk him into a surprise trip again. Now he has just woken up in Las Vegas with a hangover, an unknown ring on his finger and a beautiful man next to him. It gets even better, though, when Castiel's last memory from the night before is seeing this man up on a stage in a skimpy cowboy outfit. Now, Castiel has to learn to live a cliche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bright Light City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edited**

_Woops._

That’s the first word that cuts through Castiel Novak's throbbing head as he wakes up. Just "woops".

Later on in his life it will be a memory that comes up at odd unexpected moments that at first will make him bite his lip or cringe slightly, but then smile to himself in that way we all do when remembering the fluidity of youth and time—of our past. That's later, though.

Now, however, "woops" is only the first thought. The second is: _Oh, no._ Which is then proceeded by another, more hearty, _Oh, God no!_

Even breaths from an evenly shaped, beautifully plump mouth tickle upon Castiel's own due to proximity—that being that there is none. It takes Castiel a moment to focus his eyes upon the man not even an inch in front of him. It's the face of none other than an angel. A beautiful, naked angel.

Castiel’s breath stutters.

 _Naked_ , that is the fourth thought.

Castiel works around a large lump in his throat as he blinks his eyes a few times and notes that the man's long, almost feminine eyelashes are closed, his breathing even. He also notices freckles lightly pepper his tan, sharp cheekbones and short nose. Castiel tries very hard to tear his eyes away from those freckles and focus on the matter at hand. The breathing is even, that is what's important and not some stranger pretty boy's freckles. A small sigh of gratitude passes through his lips that the man is asleep before Castiel begins to carefully absorb his surroundings. They're both naked—and close. Very close. Castiel tries desperately not to focus on that either. However, he does notice that the bed they are currently wrapped up in is lumpy with itchy sheets that seem to weave in and out of their limbs and onto the floor like some Michelangelo mosaic. Another steadying breath and Castiel's eyes scan the room from where he lays, trying hard to keep the panic at bay. Dust molecules dance through the bright sunlight that peaks from cheap, rough looking curtains. There's an old analogue TV at the foot of the bed, and a door leading to a darkened bathroom to his left. A cheap motel room. Perfect. Just perfect.

Determining Castiel's surroundings was the easy part, now removing himself from the situation is a whole other issue.

A long breath passes through Castiel's nose as he begins the process of untangling himself from this man. He bites his own lip in concentration, his eyes flicking up to the man's every so often to make sure he hasn’t woken the beast. The legs are the easiest to escape from, it's the hand tangled with the other man's that's a little more challenging, because damn this guy has a death grip for somebody who's asleep. Finally, Castiel retracts his hand from the man's and almost falls off the bed as a result. He doesn't though, and soon he is slowly climbing out of the bed and tiptoeing to his boxers and dress pants that are strewn on the floor along with other garments. They slip quickly around his legs and Castiel doesn't even bother to zip or buckle them before he's reaching for the cellphone in his pocket and heading to the bathroom. He turns on the light without thinking and shoots a quick look over his shoulder to the man on the bed to make sure he’s still asleep. He is, but Castiel doesn't process that. Instead, he sees the body in full view, from head to toe. Castiel retracts his previous thought, because angel doesn't even begin to describe the man’s beauty. In the morning light his tanned skin almost glows, his muscular stomach slowly rising and falling with the sheets, and something inside of Castiel's chest clenches, something familiar but also foreign, like calling home but never going to visit.

Then a sudden realization: Castiel thought morning light, but is it morning? He quickly looks away from the man to look down at the digital clock on his cell phone. It reads 1:34 PM. Great. Just fantastic. Random cheap motel room, hot, naked stranger in bed, and now he's missed lunch with Anna?

Castiel rolls his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, because goddamn does he have the hangover headache of the century to just top it all off. Slowly, he reopens his eyes and goes to turn to splash some water on his face when his eyes fall upon other clothes on the ground, clothes that aren't his. Of course, there is his blue tie, white collared shirt, suit jacket (minus the underwear and pants he put on), but also others. The angel's. Jeans, cowboy boots, flannel button-up? And...

Castiel thinks he's going to puke.

...A cowboy hat.

The clenching feeling in his chest quickly drops like a rock to his stomach accompanied by wide eyes and inability to feel anything except panic, and now that hangover has really hit him hard. He quickly turns away from the doorway to the sink, clutching at the sides of it but willing himself not to throw up from the memory that the hat had triggered from the night before. He takes steadying breaths, bowing his head over and closing his eyes to concentrate, willing himself not to puke but to also push away the fleeting memory. No puking, no thoughts. Slowly, Castiel opens his eyes and turns on the faucet to splash cold water on his face. As he rubs his hands on his tired skin something metallic hits his cheek. Castiel freezes. If he wasn't shocked he would definitely be puking up his lungs now because this just can't be real.

On his left hand, ring finger, is a golden wedding band.

Castiel takes a gulp of nothing, his tongue feels like a desert. He remembers now that he is in a desert. Las Vegas, Nevada. That's where he is, and the panic subdues a small amount from the memories of earlier yesterday, but not to a large extent because he's still trying to swallow the vomit that threatens to crawl up his throat. His sister had ran into the ER right after Castiel's shift had ended (a patient had died on him not only ten minutes ago, he recalls) and had pronounced that Castiel needed a break from "all this sad shit" (as Anna had so delicately put it) and that he would be gone for the rest of the month to accompany her to Las Vegas for a large poker tournament she was playing in. It had been an impromptu invitation, but Castiel knew better than to turn her down. That's just how Anna had always been. If her husband was too busy then better yet bring your brother. Paris of 2011 had been a far greater adventure then just a few hours outside of LA, anyway, so Castiel really hadn't seen the big deal in willingly accepting. Also, Castiel is considered something of a workaholic and although being a doctor didn’t present itself with too many opportunities for vacation his medical director knew he needed the time off and had willingly granted him the leave. However, this was probably not what his boss and Anna had in mind—nor had Castiel. The thought of the cowboy hat on the ground outside flitted through Castiel's head, mingling with the ring around his finger, has Castiel gulping in air.

The cowboy hat belongs to Mr. Angel-face. Actually, more like Cowboy Angel-face. Up on a stage. A stage with poles, mind you. Poles, flashing lights, and male g-strings. The man laying in his bed had been up on that stage, Castiel timidly lets himself remember, with that exact same cowboy hat, looking at Castiel, and Anna teasing him about it and offering more shots which the mesmerized Castiel took without turning his gaze away from the stripper on stage. The last thing Castiel remembers were the eyes of the stripping cowboy. Green. But not an oaky, viridian green, an olive color that actually wasn't ugly at all, like that olive color usually was. One that was like a vineyard on the countryside. Home. The clenching feeling in his chest...

Yep, he's definitely going to puke.

Right as Castiel went to splash more cold water on his overheated face his phone rang—loudly. Castiel bites his lip in anger and quickly fumbles with wet hands to open up the phone. "Hello?" he whispers urgently into the receiver.

"What the fuck, man?!" Anna yells over a large crowd on the other end, just as Castiel knew she would. Castiel takes the phone away from his ear at the loud noise that is definitely not helping his headache and takes a deep breath before putting it back to his ear and replying, "What?"

"Where are you?! I thought you were going to cheer me on then we were gona get drinks during table switching!" she says equally as agitated but not as loud, although her voice is raised to speak over a crowd.

"Some motel room, I don't know..."

"Alone...?" the voice is a little worried but she's trying to pull it off as cutesy and dirty, which Castiel sees right through, of course.

"No," Castiel groans as quietly as he can.

"Cowboy man?"

Castiel sighs audibly.

"Well," Anna quickly continues, but in a teasing tone now, "I just made it to the second round, so we're definitely staying for the rest of the week at least. You think you can tear yourself away from stripper boy to come have lunch with me to celebrate?"

Castiel quickly checks his other pocket to make sure his wallet is still there and is relieved to find that, yes, it is not stolen and he can pay for a cab, but also feels at the corners of something else he hadn't noticed before. A folded piece of paper he definitely did not remember having. Castiel pulls it out to unfold while he nods and says, "Uh, yes. Definitely."

"Great! Oh, so Balthy called and—" Just as Anna is getting into her story, Castiel was unfolding the paper but stops short by the sound of a soft moan emitted from the bed. Slowly, Castiel turns around to look through the open doorway at the bed where those enchantingly insidious eyes from last night are slowly being opened to the world. If Castiel thought his mouth was dry before then he must have absolutely no moisture in it now. Numbly, Castiel’s other senses kicked back into gear and he notices that Anna is still blabbering on about Balthazar on the other line. He monotonously cuts her off with a short: "Anna, gotta call you back." And hangs up, shoving the paper back into his pocket with his phone. The gruff, dry voice Castiel had used apparently got the angel's attention because he sleepily rubs at his eyes and turns his head to where the owner of the voice stands in the bathroom. Then, something Castiel did not expect: a small smile plays on the man's perfect lips that had been breathing on his own just minutes ago, and those tan, naked legs starting to spread on the messy bed—and, Jesus help him, those eyes. They look at Castiel in a way he had never been looked at before. He can't feel his breath in his lungs anymore and quickly shifts his own eyes away from the intense contact across the room to search around for air that seems to be in short supply. They end up on the trashcan next to the bed and catch sight of several used condoms inside of it and one half slung over the rim accompanied by a bottle of open lube on the nightstand that Castiel had lacked to notice as he had gotten up in his sleepy daze. Castiel's breath hitches again and his eyes quickly flit to the man's to see him looking at the same items with a sly smile before they make contact again, now a whole new message in them. This was not good.

Castiel quickly looks away again, a hot blush crawling up his cheeks. Looking down was always a safe bet, so that's where Castiel decides to finally lay his shifting gaze. He attempts to find something to say, but all that comes to his mind falls short on his tongue, and the inability to articulate himself for perhaps the first time in his life is more infuriating than he could have anticipated. Castiel bites at his lip and continues his search for words, so focused on the task that he doesn't recognize that the man has gotten up from the bed and is moving across the small room when Castiel hears a creak on the floorboard. Panicky, wide eyes looked up at the full body figure leaning casually against the bathroom door frame only a foot or so away from where Castiel himself is leaning against the sink and worrying at his lip. Angel-cowboy-stripper-stranger has put on the boxers that had been laying on the floor as well, but that was it and it did nothing to hide the obvious morning wood the man was sporting. Castiel's face burns even hotter and he takes another sharp breath that's not enough to supply oxygen to his brain as he moves his eyes upward out of respect for the stranger, only to meet the other pair again. Castiel was about to say something—anything would do at this point—when a deep voice slips from those plump lips instead to say, "Morning, Casserole."

Silence. That's Castiel's brilliant reply. Very, very confused silence. Because, "casserole"? Seriously? That's worse than "woops". But before Castiel can voice his confusion to the stripping cowboy, that same celestial man is upon him, grabbing at his hips and brushing their lips together as their foreheads touched almost reverently. That smile is still on his face and all Castiel can do is look at him through heavily lidded eyes as those gorgeous lips search Castiel's skin.

"You should'a stayed in bed, I love morning sex. Should'a kept your pants off too, sheriff, but I don't mind stripping you again," the man breathes against Castiel's cheek as his nose trails across the skin almost lovingly. It's intimate in a way Castiel can hardly even bear, and also extremely sexy as that hard dick thinly covered by cloth brushes against Castiel's own growing groin. It's a thought of Castiel's, at that moment, to give in, to allow the lust to wash him away and take this man and throw him over the sink, to slide into him with the help of the lube on the counter. Really, he's about to just grab the man's lip between his teeth when he feels a cold metal brush against the fevered skin on his hip. The man is nibbling at the corner of his jaw now as Castiel freezes and looks down at the man's left hand on his hip and sees something he wishes was just one of the desert’s mirages. A little piece of metal sits on the man's left hand ring finger that perfectly matches the one on his finger that he had completely forgotten about. There was that puke again.

Castiel shoves the man off of him, scared and panicked eyes wide as they search the man in fright for some recognition. As they look at those impossible green ones he sees instead hurt and confusion at the rejection, but Castiel can't focus on that. All that Castiel knows, all Castiel can think about, all that is blaring through Castiel's mind right now is one thought, one word: _MARRIED._

Suddenly, Castiel is in the main room, picking up his clothes and putting them on haphazardly. That rough, manly voice is speaking to him, but Castiel's mind is far away, racing and refusing to listen. He's now half buttoned up with his dress jacket slung over his arm, halfway out the door when he feels a hand grab roughly at his arm and it takes everything in Castiel to not cry as he turns around and meets those green eyes for what he thinks is the final time. It's sobering in the sickest sense, and just the look of the man is enough to will Castiel back into the door, back into the stranger's arms. He doesn't, though. Something is playing on the angel's lips, a plea perhaps, but Castiel doesn't want to hear that because he knows he would obey, he would listen to him now, because those eyes are simply too much to ignore and Castiel knows refusal would be as fruitless as fighting being spirited away by your sister to Vegas. The lump rises again in his throat, accompanied by the clenching chest feeling, and he fights against it with all of his might as he says in the most commanding voice he can conjure: "I don't know you." 

Castiel wrenches his arm away from the angel-cowboy-stripper-stranger-husband faltered grasp and races out of the door into the hot, baking sun of Las Vegas.


	2. Set My Soul On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edited**

"I cannot believe this," Anna gapes, staring at the golden ring around Castiel's finger she's holding only an inch or so away from her shocked face. It had been a day after Castiel had walked out on the hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-man (or husband, apparently) and Anna was still not getting over the fact that he got married. Although, she had been in the tournament all yesterday so they hadn't really had a lot of time together for her to properly swoon. Castiel hadn't minded, though. He had returned to the hotel room and immediately stripped from his filthy clothes, throwing them into his suitcase to never wear again before getting in the shower to scrub away his shame, afterwards he had slept until Anna had woken him up with a thwack to the head. That being said, Anna's behavior (although called for) is already grinding on Castiel's nerves, to be frank. Castiel yanks his hand out of his sister's grip with another eye roll as Anna goes on, "And you don't even know his name?! Castiel!"

"Well," Castiel begins, shame replacing the annoyance and simmering hotly in the pit of stomach at the thought, "no, not really."

"Not really?" Anna demands, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

Castiel squints his eyes at his sister's foul language and then looks back down at the hot sidewalk. They're outside on The Strip, waiting to be seated for lunch at some "hip" diner called Serendipity connected to Caesar's Palace where they're staying. Anna promised that the burgers were to die for, but the restaurant was really known for its desserts and pies. Castiel had nodded numbly in agreement, although he didn't really care where Anna was dragging him off too, so lost in his own thoughts and self loathing that it didn't much matter. Although, the outrageous line to get a seat was a large tell for Castiel and showed small promise for the depressed man, and he finds himself sort of eager to eat a good burger, no matter how blistering hot it is as they stand outside waiting to be called for a seat.

Castiel shrugs in reply and says, “I guess I just don’t…” He squints towards the blazing sun. God, it was only May and it was already breaking a 100 degrees, how could the natives stand it? Castiel had foregone suits after the other night (for good reason besides the heat) and instead was now sporting dress pants and a blue polo that Anna had deemed as "totally gay".

“Ugh!” Anna exclaims at Castiel’s lack of a reply, “You’re impossible!”

Another eye roll is Castiel's reply before he softly smiles at the familiar reaction of his sister. She keeps the tantrum up for a few more moments before she flips her long, red hair away from her pale face and squares Castiel off, folding her arms over her chest and saying, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well what are you going to do! Are you going to go find him and ask for a divorce or annulment or whatever?!"

Castiel doesn't know how to reply to that because he honestly has no clue. Of course the most logical approach to this is to just go to the place of business Castiel and Anna had found his husband that night and arrange a time for them to meet and talk about an annulment. However, very logical Castiel is still hesitant on even broaching any of those matters, which was very illogical and out of character, which seems to scare his sister more than the impromptu marriage. All Castiel can think about when he begins to ask Anna where the strip club had been is the one memory of the cowboy calling him “casserole” and how much Castiel had hated it, panicked as he had watched the stranger sleep in a lusty haze, how annoyingly hard it was to pry his hand out of the man's own as they slept tangled in each other. It was a familiarity Castiel hadn't felt in a long time, possibly ever. The clenching in his stomach, of home. God, this was awful.

A grimace crosses over Castiel's countenance as he thinks about how to answer Anna's question. He finally looks up into his sister's eyes and opens his mouth to reply with the truth right as the hostess calls out: "Novak! Party of two!" A silent prayer is sent heavenward through a grateful huff of breath from Castiel as he and his sister are conveniently called to their table. However, it seems that Castiel's luck ends there.

The entirety of Serendipity is a hooded patio, although it does have AC and misters, and Castiel and Anna are seated at a small table on the very edge of one of the metal fences overlooking Las Vegas Boulevard. Castiel takes out his wallet from his pocket and sets it on the table as he sits, clearly trying to communicate with his sister that lunch is on him before taking in his surroundings with squinted eyes. Damn, he knew he should have brought his sunglasses. That being said Castiel still thinks it's still pretty nice out for being 110 degrees and brighter than the sun itself. In fact, the lack of any humidity that the desert gives off is actually a little refreshing, and for a moment Castiel thinks he would forget about the whole hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband situation. Of course, he's wrong.

"Well," Anna presses on as the hostess gives them the menus and then leaves to go sit others, "we have to give him some name."

"Who?" Castiel asks nonchalantly, skimming through the large single-paged menu that's crammed with little illustrations and food items that mostly consist of expensive desserts.

"Don't play dumb, Castiel! Your husband!"

Castiel rolls his eyes in response and then fixes them on his sister, asking darkly, "Why?"

"Because it's weird! I don't want to keep calling him hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-man-husband thing! Although he was a total hottie..."

"Anna," Castiel chastises.

"Alright, alright! Geez, jealous much... Ok, how about Carlos? Joseph? Greg?..." As Anna lists off the names Castiel's mind and eyes start to wander around the restaurant, only to suddenly fall upon the very hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband they are discussing. Except now he isn't adorned with the cowboy hat and male g-string but the black polo shirt and pants that all the waiters and waitresses are wearing. And that didn't make any sense, because that would mean…

"...Steven? Richard?—"

"Jesus!" Castiel almost screams as his mind quickly connects the dots.

"No, Castiel, I think you pronounce the 'j' silently. And isn't that a Hispanic name, anyway? Although he was super tan so maybe—"

"No, Anna, I mean Jesus Christ!" and with only a quick flick of his eyes towards hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband's direction and no further explanation, Castiel is out of his seat and bolting for the men's bathroom, possibly to relieve himself of the puke he had rejected the two mornings before. And as he turns the corner to seek refuge Castiel quickly throws a look over his shoulder only to see the man making his way towards his wide-eyed sister with a friendly, innocent smile.

This cannot be happening.

The bathroom is outside of the restaurant and down a small, hooded alley, but the small walk there hasn't done anything to cool Castiel’s wrecked nerves. A few splashes of cold water on his face later and Castiel still feels his heart trying to make a break from his chest. A few other customers have come in but haven't given him a second glance, because this is Vegas and a man having a full on panic attack at Serendipity is probably one of the more normal activities to witness in a bathroom here. As Castiel goes to wipe his face with a paper towel and starting to have an even breathing pattern again his cell phone loudly begins to ring and Castiel's heart flies off the handle once more. He fumbles with his wet hands as he gets the damn contraption out—thinking to himself that he has to keep this thing on vibrate from now on—and finally accepts the call that reads is from Anna.

"What?!" Castiel spits.

"Dean," Anna's voice is hushed and hurried.

"What?" Castiel repeats, squinting his eyes at the tile floor in concentration.

"His nametag says his name is Dean and he's serving us. Get your dumb ass out here. Now, Castiel!"

"No. Way," Castiel almost hisses.

"You are not ditching me, Castiel! He totally recognized me! You need to man up and fucking face him!" Anna's voice slowly rises and then suddenly drops back down to a whisper on the last sentence.

"Wait, he recognized you?" Castiel's blanches as he attempts to swallow with horror.

"Oh, shit, he's coming back over. Hurry—" and with that the call suddenly ends. Castiel looks down at his phone angrily and decidedly shoves it back in his pocket because no way is he going back. No way in hell, especially in this context—

Where was his wallet?

Castiel's eyes go wide as he his hand searches around fervently in every pocket. That has his money, credit cards, I.D., and hotel key card. He can basically not go anywhere or do anything without it. He can call Anna and ask her to grab it and bring it out to him, but he isn't counting on her even answering the phone much less aiding in his escape…There's only one way.

Castiel sneaks out of the restroom and begins to mentally prepare himself. This Dean guy will probably be serving another table by now, so Castiel can just sneak past him, grab his wallet, apologize to Anna quickly, and bolt out of there. Easy.

A small sigh escapes Castiel's lips as he looks upward and murmurs, "Why?" And with that he's off.

It's like an obstacle course, emotionally and physically. First, Castiel has to deal with seeing the back of Dean's beautiful head as he talks to other costumers, making sure he's out of the way before basically sprinting across the floor to his table, nearly running into two waiters and three patrons, and then grabbing his wallet when Anna grabs his wrist and hisses, "You are not leaving me, Castiel!" He breaks out of her grip and looks down at his angry sister quickly and breathes a, "Sorry.” Before racing back towards the stairs that will lead to his freedom. Castiel is almost there, oh my God he's going to make it! This is going to actually work—

A large thump is all Castiel hears, then the catching of his breath. Recalling the events later on he won't remember feeling anything but a choking feeling on his heart and throat as he recalls literally running into Dean. Part time waiter at Serendipity, part time hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband. His husband.

Castiel swallows thickly and looks up at the beautiful man.

Once more, Castiel finds all he can think was, _Woops._

Then, the man smiles. It's a shy smile that fits him nicely, and Castiel feels like he has lost the ability to swallow.

"Casserole," Dean finally says, although his voice sounds as choked and forced as Castiel's mind feels while those eyes wander up and down Castiel's body in an unnerving way, and all Castiel can do is look up into those green eyes and pray to God he will wake up at any minute.

"Um," is all that comes out of his mouth. He finally reins in the self control to look away from those eyes, which is a bad move. His eyes fall instead on the man's left hand which is still adorned with the same golden ring that matches the one that's also still fitted snugly on Castiel's own left hand. Woops again.

Castiel's heart is set ablaze and he feels like instead of puking he's going to cry. What is he doing?

Castiel looks back up at the gorgeous man quickly and shoots him a small, forced smile before saying, "Sorry, I've got to be leaving now." And tries to walk past Dean, but then that strong, calloused hand grabs his forearm once more, just like he had the morning Castiel had bolted. Except this time Castiel is more willing to turn around and stay, but don't ask him why.

Now Dean is facing the sunlight as he looks down at the man who had tried to escape yet again and it's almost pure agony that tears through Castiel's every fried nerve to see the man so hurt, so confused in that sparkling sun that make his eyes light up with the personified emotion. This just wasn't fair.

"Wait," Dean says with that stupid deep and manly voice, "I think we should talk."

Castiel gulps.

"I'm about to get off my shift," Dean continues after a beat, his grip loosening on Castiel's arm as he sees the man isn't planning on running away this time. "We should sit down and talk, don't you think? We could go to the Roadhouse. It’s just down the walk and not loud and, y’know, stripper-y during the daytime. Sound good?"

Castiel shifts his eyes a little and catches Anna's eyes blatantly staring at the two from afar. As they make eye contact Anna just raises her eyebrows and nods. Castiel purses his lips and looks back up at the slightly taller man, because Jesus how can you not look at him? Then, a small nod. Fine.

Dean's smile is possibly more brilliant than Las Vegas and the sun combined, and it warms Castiel's heart, but not like the 110 degree weather. It's hotter than passion and cooler than adoration, it feels vaguely like...like…

Dean lets go of Castiel's arm finally and smiles down at him, saying, "Awesome. I'll meet you over there in thirty, Casserole."

Castiel squints at the man then and bites at his lip, embarrassed for the both of them. Originally he had thought the name was just a term of endearment, but now he's afraid this man actually thinks that's his name; and seriously? That's just stupid. Castiel looks down anyway in shame as he mutters, "Castiel..."

"Hm?" Dean replies. He had already started turning back around to finish his shift but is caught short by Castiel’s muttered reply. Castiel shifts his eyes nervously from the ground to Dean's extravagant glow before he repeats a little louder, "My name's not Casserole. It's Castiel."

"Castiel?"

Castiel nods in affirmation, his cheeks warming by hearing his own name being played off the beautiful man's tongue and plump lips. He looks up quickly and is caught by those idiotically bright olive green eyes as his smile grows back on his face, "Castiel...Ok. See you soon then." Dean gives a quick wink after his words that sets Castiel's whole body alight in a completely different way than before as Dean turns back to finish his shift. Castiel catches Anna's stare briefly and is not at all happy with her pleased and smug expression as she raises her glass to him and mouths, "Mazel tov."

A longer sigh comes from Castiel as he looks back up at the sky in wonderment and turns on his heels to walk to the bar Dean's going to meet him at and steel himself for the inevitable.

###### 

An impatient foot taps against a brass bar at his feet as Castiel sits at the bar and grimaces down at the beer he had ordered so he could sit but refuses to so much as sip at. Castiel doesn't usually drink since he's such a heavyweight and it gets expensive and also because he's been told he's a bad drunk (as is evidence by this specific dilemma), and he's already feeling pretty shitty about the entire situation anyway. The Roadhouse hadn’t been hard to find, though. Dean had been accurate in his directions because it was just right down the walk, although tucked behind some other shops and stores. As soon as Castiel had walked through the doors, however, memories lost came crashing back due to the realization that this was the same strip club that Dean had been dancing at, except that it's just a laid back bar during the day that plays classic rock. 

That alone sets Castiel’s already jittery nerves on edge again. Well, that and Dean is late. Twenty minutes late, actually, and Castiel is about to say "fuck it" and walk out of this crap bar when Dean rushes through the door. He's still wearing the black pants but has lost the polo shirt and is now wearing only the snug undershirt, his tan face a little flustered and stressed and Castiel's dick does a small jump to attention at how mussed he looks. The only change in his countenance, though, is a small jump of his lips in greeting before he turns back to the bar without a word and resumes his stare off with the full beer bottle.

"Heya, Ellen," Dean greets the bartender comfortably before taking the seat next to Castiel and smiling over to her, "Another over here, thanks."

The woman gives them a wary look that Castiel interprets as warning before sliding a beer over to Dean and then turning back around to leave them be.

Dean takes long swigs out of the beer (which Castiel may or may not be watching a little too intently) before an awkward silence ensues between them. They don't even make eye contact, Castiel just plays with the label on his full beer as light chatter and Led Zeppelin play overhead and in the background. A small sigh and Castiel is definitely about to leave when Dean breaks the silence with a scoff and says, "This whole entire time I totally thought your name was Casserole."

Castiel looks up at the man with a furrowed brow to only see an embarrassed but amused and easy smile greet him. He bites at his own lip subtly as his face gets a little red before facing forward again and mumbling, "Well, it's not." And with that Castiel takes his first sip from his warm beer.

"What does 'Castiel' even mean, anyway?" Dean asks conversationally.

"It's an angel's name," Castiel replies quietly, ripping at his label some more. "All my relatives are named after angels."

"Woah. That's actually pretty friggin' awesome, dude," Dean says with a smile to his voice that Castiel can't tell is genuine or satirical, but Castiel refuses to look at Dean's face to see which. All he does instead is sigh and say to his beer, "So, you wanted to talk."

Dean clears his throat and adjusts in his seat, muttering, "Yeah...About the other night."

"What about it?" Castiel says dully.

"Well, we're married, for one thing," Dean says, tension and frustration in his voice. Castiel knows he's being difficult, but he can't help it. Ok, maybe he owes a little more to the guy, they are in this situation together and sort of married after all. Castiel looks at Dean apologetically and nods before looking down at his own left hand and replying, "Yeah, I noticed."

"So what do you think we should do? Thoughts, opinions, anything, man."

"Well I think we should get an annulment. Unless you're a religious man, then a divorce," Castiel states curtly. Dean scoffs in reply and says, "Hell no I'm not religious. Are you...?"

Castiel shrugs. He doesn't want to get into his religious beliefs right now, this isn't like a date or anything anyway.

Dean lets it go and sighs, "An annulment, huh? You sure?"

A wave of shock and hope and fright shoots through Castiel's spine at the words, his eyes blowing up wide as he looks up in surprise at Dean who quickly tries to correct himself at seeing Castiel's reaction, "I mean, of course, um, just y'know, thinking about it—"

"Are you suggesting?" Castiel gapes.

Dean downright blushes and avoids Castiel's eyes as he stutters out, "W-well, I mean, we could, I don't know—"

"I live in L.A.," Castiel cuts him off sharply, "you thought my name was Casserole and I learned yours from your name tag not even an hour ago, we've spent not even two days together—one of which I don't even fully recall—and you want to stay married? Dean, we're strangers," Castiel's voice thunders lowly. This situation suddenly becomes to ridiculously real for Castiel, the clenching feeling too tight and confusing, so Castiel does the one thing he knows he can and gets up abruptly.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Dean turns around in his bar stool quickly as Castiel pulls out his wallet to retrieve eight dollars for their beers, Dean gaping at him before spitting out, "Where are you going?"

"You're crazy. I'll contact you here by the end of the week once I talk to my lawyer about an annulment," Castiel says shortly as he tosses the money on the table and then turns to walk out of the bar, ignoring Dean's calls for him. Castiel runs at full speed as he exits the bar, somehow knowing that Dean will try to follow him and needing to escape him, needing to run away, like always.

The sprint to his hotel is a blur, only one memory blinding Castiel's vision: before he had left Castiel didn't dare look into Dean's eyes, knowing he'd be trapped forever if he had. In hindsight, Castiel would've made the eye contact.  
Right now, though, Castiel slams his hotel door shut and grabs for his cell.


	3. Ready To Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edited**

"What do you mean you _can't_?" Castiel hisses into his phone.

"I mean," his lawyer sighs heavily on the other side of the phone, "I can't annul just you, Mr. Novak, I have to speak to your partner's lawyer as well. This is especially difficult since it's an out of state license between a same-sex couple." 

Castiel knows he’s being unreasonably difficult just like with Dean back at the bar, but his adrenaline is still running high with anger so that he can’t find it in himself to care. At those words, however, Castiel forces himself to take a steadying breath and willed himself to calm down. Moments ago he had exited The Roadhouse where he had left Dean and was now sitting back in his empty hotel room, talking exit strategy options on the phone with his lawyer who was back in L.A. Actually, there was only one option in Castiel's mind: annul the marriage that very minute and never have to speak to Dean ever again. Apparently, though, that wasn't even possible.

A heavy sigh and another pinch to the bridge of the nose in contained frustration and Castiel’s reply comes even and mostly calm, "Ok, so what do we do?"

"Go talk to this man, exchange information, and have his lawyer call me."

"Ok," Castiel grimaces and added softly, "I'm sorry to spring this on you, Sam. I know you're about to go visit your brother. We could wait afterward if you—"

"Absolutely not,” Sam Winchester cuts off Castiel, “annulments are important to get done quickly and efficiently. I really don't mind working a little over there, Mr. Novak. Really, it's fine," Sam chuckles. "Why else would you pay me? Besides this paperwork is so easy I can do it on the plane back home!" Castiel smiles softly. He likes Sam, he’s smart, sensitive, and charismatic. They communicate well, although his family didn't seem to like him much when they had all met in court. However, his family isn't pleased with anything relating to Meg, no matter what or who it was. That being said, Sam had handled Castiel's divorce very professionally, and Castiel is forever grateful for the man's secure presence as a lawyer and acquaintance through the ordeal. On top of all that, he’s a damn good lawyer too—especially considering he was just starting his own firm after recently graduating from...Stanford, was it?—but Castiel's thoughts on Meg are cut short as Sam's voice takes in Castiel's silence and adds softly, "Listen, Mr. Novak, we'll figure this out. I promise. Just...go talk to him, that's all, and I'll take care of the rest. Communication is key, even if it can be tough. Ok?"

Castiel nodded to himself and sighs with relief at Sam’s loyalty for him, "Ok. Thank you, Sam. When are you going to go visit your brother, again?"

“Two days,” Sam replies although his voice is a little off.

“Well, tell him I appreciate it and don’t let my issues get in the way of your vacation.”

Sam chuckles again but it sounds a little hysteric, “Yeah, well it won’t be much of a vacation, anyway. It’s kind of a surprise visit and I’m not sure how he’s going to handle it...Anyway! I’ll talk to you soon, Mr. Novak,” Sam ends suddenly.

“Talk to you then,” Castiel replies, his mind already trailing away as he hangs up. The call was supposed to be calming but instead it left Castiel feeling worse than ever before. Although there is some help and hope in what Sam had said, it is completely overshadowed by the capital issue in Castiel’s mind: he has to talk to Dean again, and soon. Castiel closes his eyes in frustration and lets his head fall back. It’s still bright with daylight outside but Castiel has closed the heavy blinds to his hotel room so it’s dark as night in the room. It doesn’t help though, he still thinks of Dean waking up the other morning, thinks of the circumstances that would’ve played out if he hadn’t been the first one to awake. Dean would have moved over to kiss at Castiel's stubble covered neck, hands still tangled as the cold metal of the wedding ring so casually would cool on Castiel's burning skin. The images dance across his closed eyelids as a sort of background Castiel tries plan on how to approach Dean again. However, the images of the morning soon overwhelm Castiel’s thoughts in the dark room, and then he’s gone...

_The bodies moved against one another languidly in the dark room. They slid together perfectly, the sweat slicking their torsos so that every movement was long and easy. Or maybe it was just that their minds were so drenched in sweet alcohol that it seemed so easy. The moonlight poured in from the cheap motel room's thinly veiled curtains and fell onto the moist back of the man on top as he thrust into the other man below. Castiel's mind was far gone, mouth openned wide and touching Dean's but neither kissed nor breathed as Castiel pushed into Dean again. A slow moan of approval came from Dean's lips and played hungrily against Castiel's own hungry ones. His blue eyes opened half-lidded with lust to look at those green ones as he made the movement again, brushing against Dean's prostate only hard enough to get that reaction. Another drawn out moan. The speed picked up._

_Dean was gripping for purchase on Castiel's back as the man worked into him so slowly. Those hands, Dean’s raw voice trying to find the vocabulary to voice his want, no, need for Castiel to go faster. Harder. It was too much for Castiel. His head fell down into the crook of Dean's neck as his breath found him once more but came raggedly as his hips pulled like the tides in and out of Dean. Castiel gripped at Dean's strong upper-thighs as he pushed them up, trying to angle better into Dean as he slammed down harder into the man. Neither was disappointed by the result the position elicited. Dean suddenly got louder and louder with each thrust, and like fulfilling a promise Castiel gradually got faster and faster. He thirstily looked down at the man below him, those eyes blown wide as his mouth let out mumbled encouragement and luxurious moans. The stripper's jaw was prominent in the moonlight, and Castiel's eyes traveled down the tan expanse of skin to Dean's abdomen where his thick cock was leaking profusely. Without hardly thinking Castiel took it in hand, and suddenly Dean's eyes went wide. He pumped his fist against Dean's dick with the movement of his thrust and with equal force, his thumb moving up to the precum slicked tip every once in a while to get a particularly loud moan from the man._

_"Ah," Dean moaned, "Yeah...Fuck...I need you...Yes, I'm gonna...Don't stop, fuck, I'm gonna— Cass—!"_

“Castiel!”

Castiel didn't know when he fell asleep, but was suddenly awoken by Anna loudly calling him out as she slammed the door shut, continuing with, "Hello, Mr. Dean's Husband! How was it? Are you two happily married or bad news for the lovely couple?" 

Castiel mumbles incoherently at his loving sister as he tries to ignore the larger issue in his pants that the dream had procured, glad that it was at least wearing pants and underneath the sheets from the bed he had pulled over himself at some point. 

Anna, unaware of her brother’s horrid state, opens up the blinds sharply, letting in the bright lights that Castiel groans at. She stops in her tracks and makes a disgusted face at seeing Castiel in the light, "Yuck! What happened to you?"

"I fell asleep," Castiel replies shortly, rubbing at his eyes. "And I talked to Sam."

"And?"

As the reminder surfaces to Castiel’s mind that he has to go see Dean and _talk_ to him Castiel groans loudly again and falls back down on the bed, covering his face with his hands as he mumbles, "I have to go talk to him again to annul the marriage."

"You mean, you didn't get it sorted out before? Castiel!" Anna chastises.

All Castiel can do was groan in sorrow as a reply. 

Anna sighs and takes a deep breath before patiently sitting down on the bed and putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder, saying softly, "Talk to me. What happened."

"We went go have a drink," Castiel sighs from his hands, "And he was understanding."

There’s a long pause. Anna finally huffs and says as nicely as she can, bless her, "And?!"

Castiel lifts his hands away from his face and stares up at Anna angrily, "And I ran away." 

Before Anna can reply to Castiel lashing out he’s gotten up off the bed and is now stomping into his shoes and heading for the door. Anna called after him, "W-where are you going? Castiel!"

"To go talk to Dean," Castiel calls back after her.

"But—Fuck, Castiel, where do you even plan on finding him?!"

The hotel door slams shut.

###### 

The Roadhouse's door swing open.

It isn't like Castiel is expecting Dean to still be sitting at the bar, but he figures that he might as well try the club first since Dean apparently moonlights as a stripper here. It turns out that Castiel had slept for a good seven hours, and the light that had come from Anna opening the curtains had just been the artificial lights The Strip emitted. By the time he exits the hotel, stopping by the hotel’s restroom to wash out his mouth and attempt to fix his disaster sight of hair, the nightlife is in full swing. This “nightlife” includes every strip club that Las Vegas holds, which is just as bountiful as the churches here, and The Roadhouse is no exception.

So here he is now, sitting at the same seat at the bar he had earlier that same day, suckling on another beer just like before and doing his damnedest not to throw up as the flashing lights change overhead. The strip poles that had stood stagnant during the daytime are now in use with scantily clad naked men and women utilizing them, lights bouncing off their shimmering bodies as they dance on tables for the patrons, each in a creatively different and skimpy outfit that were slowly being torn, taken, and stripped away. Modern hip-hop music blares throughout the facility and fills Castiel's ears as he takes another swig from his drink and looks around for Dean. As his eyes skim the crowd behind his bar stool a sharp, feminine voice calls out from behind the bar. Castiel turns around and is immediately confronted with a rather short, slim blonde girl that couldn't be more than 22 at the oldest. Her brown eyes are piercing even in the dimmed light of the strip club as he meets her steady glare. She raises an eyebrow as if to let him know she's waiting impatiently for an explanation . Castiel searches her face for a beat before he clears his throat and asked over the music, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that! What?"

"I asked," she begins with an aggressive tone, "you were that guy who was with Dean earlier today, right?"

Castiel gapes for a moment at the girl before closing his mouth and nodding his head. She gives him an exasperated eye roll and mutters something under her breath before training her eyes on back at him. _God, they’re like daggers_ , Castiel thinks, sweat starting to bead on his temple with nerves. She grimaces and says more loudly than she needs to, "He doesn't want to talk to you, asshole!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you heard me! So get your sorry ass out of my club or so help me—"

"I'm not here to apologize to him!" Castiel yells over the music at her. It immediately shuts the girl up and she’s taken aback for a moment before a look comes over her that’s almost completely murderous. Castiel doesn't flinch this time, though, the look is nothing compared to the sheer horror of a glare from his cousin, Zach. He just stones himself as the girl hisses loudly, "Then what are you doing here?!"

Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but just then a man dressed in a skimpy, lumberjack outfit walks up to the bar and clears his throat more loudly than either of Castiel or the girl’s voices could go. He’s much taller than Castiel himself (who’s a good six feet), buff, handsome, and immediately Castiel doesn't like him one bit. When he speaks a long Southern drawl comes out that seems friendly but has all the connotation of a sly thief. His eyes twinkle at Castiel like he’s found a rare treat that isn't his and then shoots those eyes back up at the girl as his commanding voice easily says swells over the music, "Calm down, Jo honey. I'll show our li'l friend right here to the back so he can hash out what he needs to with our sweet Dean."

Jo and Castiel alike cock a surprised brow at the man, but Jo is the first to spit out, "What?! Benny, no! No one's allowed back there accept employees and—"

The lumberjack stripper, Benny, cuts her off by simply holding a huge hand up and smiling at her. That seems to mean something, apparently, because Jo's voice immediately stops, her mouth closes, and she gives a sigh as she sags her shoulders in defeat. Without saying another word, Jo shoots Castiel another angry look before turning back around to serve the other costumers. Castiel watches as she walks away before turning back to this Benny man whom he still can't find it in himself to show gratitude even after helping him. He’s about to say thank you, nonetheless, when he notices this Benny fellow is already moving away. Castiel watches him for a moment before the lumberjack turns back around and looks at him for a moment before gesturing for Castiel to follow.

They pass many men and women dancing and taking dollar bills in different articles of clothing which they promptly removed when Benny leads Castiel to a back door with a locked and keypad. Benny's thick fingers punched in a series of numbers quickly before a green light flashes and then they’re in. The door closes behind them with a loud bang that is easily heard since the music almost immediately quiets to a low whisper. Castiel sort of misses how it had so easily taken up the silence that was now prevalent between him and the stripper. As Benny leads Castiel down a long corridor he feels a need to say something—anything—so he clears his throat and begins, "Uh, I'd like to thank you. I just need to talk to Dean quickly and then—"

Benny halts suddenly and rears around on Castiel, looming over the shorter man. His countenance is still friendly but his eyes read a fury that shakes Castiel to his core and silences him immediately. He feels the blood drain from his veins as he gulps, being reminded of Uriel at home, and does his best to look back at the gaze with the same practiced passion. There’s a moment of this glare before Benny's Southern voice rumbles, "I'm showin' you to Dean because it's what he asked me to do. I don't like it. I don't like you, Castiel. Tha's right, I know you're name. Dean's my friend and he's told me quite a bit about you and y’all’s 'relationship'. You left him this afternoon, and let me tell you, cowardice don't shake down too nice with me, kid. He spent the rest of the day lookin' for you around town, ya hear? All day. So word of advice: you say what you gotta say to him and then you don't show your face around these parts ever again."

And then it’s over and Benny is smiling again and turning to lead him to the end of the hall, whistling a saccharine tune that completely juxtaposes the muffled music from outside and deadly words he had just spewed that are laced with poison and truth. Castiel gulped and followed Benny once more in silence. They stop in front of the last door which is painted bright red and then Benny's large hand is knocking loudly on the metal. Dean's voice comes from the other side in the form of a groan: "Yeah?"

"I got a present for you!" Benny calls to the door. There was a moment of silence from the other side before a quick scrambling noise and then Dean is throwing the door open and looking passed Benny at Castiel. And oh fuck…

Dean is dressed in that skimpy cowboy outfit—minus the hat—and looks like a perfect representation of Castiel's secret fantasy man. He’s wearing a blue corduroy button up shirt with most of the buttons undone to reveal a tan chest Castiel had so eagerly observed that morning that seems like years ago. The sleeves, Castiel notes, are pushed up to his elbows, a leather vest over that with a sheriff’s badge pinned cutely to it, tight fitting frayed brown jeans, and completing the ensemble with cowboy boots and a gun holster attached to a large belt (the massive belt buckle perfectly centered over his groin), sexily hanging loose around his hips. Castiel's eyes hungrily take in the sight before they meet Dean's. There it is, that connection that causes the intense clenching, that profound bond. Castiel's chest swells as Dean smiles at him and then a weight is added by the sadness of the smirk and then the lowering of the man's green eyes. Dean clears his throat quickly and looks over to Benny, saying with a collected voice, "Thanks, man. I owe you one."

Benny smiles and replies way too comfortably for Castiel's taste, "Ask and you shall receive, brother. Call me if you need anything." And with another glare of warning at Castiel, Benny turns and leaves.

It’s just the two of them then, Castiel standing in the doorway and trying desperately not to ogle at Dean’s mussed hair and pouting lips. And there was that silence that seems way too warm and comfortable for strangers to exchange, but it’s there and Castiel wants to murder it. It’s as if they were both trying to figure out what to say, and the other knows they're trying desperately to mend the immediate wounds so the silence is accepted, so it isn’t too uncomfortable and seems pretty ok. Except it isn't ok, and finally Castiel summons up the courage to look up at Dean and at that moment Dean looks up at Castiel too. They stare at each other for a moment, green seeping into blue and blue seeping into green before the levy breaks and both their voices are tumbling forward:

"Dean I'm sorry, it's just that I—"

"I was looking everywhere for you, Cas, and—"

They both stop to let the other continue. A small, shy smile plays on both their lips as they let their eyes move downward in unison. God, this is embarrassing and awkward and way too perfect. Finally, Dean clears his throat in warning that he’s about to speak, "Why don't you come in? Have a seat. We'll talk, yeah? And no proposals, promise."

Castiel tries not to smile as he nods and enters the dressing room, careful not to touch Dean as he passes. The room has a lighted table that seems rather stereotypical and tacky for a dressing room. The walls have rows and rows of various skimpy outfits hanging on racks for women and men alike, and some outfits also hang over and on the sofa that also occupies the room, making it seem more cramped than the room would be if organized and Castiel has a sharp pain of homesickness for the hospital's organized system. He shakes it off quickly, though, and sits down hesitantly on said couch, trying not to make contact with any questionable articles of clothing. Dean swings the folding chair that sat at the dressing table around so the back of it is facing Castie,l and saddles it, folding his arms over the back of it and, God, that shouldn't be as sexy as it is. Dean leans forward and props one elbow up to lean his head against his hand, looking at Castiel so intensely and yet casually. Castiel is so preoccupied with just looking at him that he almost misses what Dean says, "Ok, talk to me."

Castiel's eyes shift awkwardly away from him, not really knowing where to begin. An apology? An excuse? Perhaps just be straightforward and tell him the news about the annulment? Castiel has never been too good with his “people skills”, and such an awkward situation isn’t make his impediment any lighter to carry.

“Um,” Castiel begins ever so strongly, “I talked to my-my lawyer.”

His eyes shift up to Dean to see his reaction. Dean simply nods and says, “Ok.”

“He, uh,” Castiel continues, not knowing why this is so difficult, “he says he needs to speak to your lawyer for all the legalities but he can have us annulled by the end of the week.”

Dean sighs dejectedly and sits up, rubbing at his eyes and it hits Castiel that Dean’s probably more stressed and tired than he is. There’s a loud cheer from the bar and Dean looks towards the door, his jaw tensing. He tries on a sad smile that kills Castiel.

“Yeah, here’s the thing, Cas,” Dean says, clearing his throat as he turns back to him, “I don’t really ‘have’ a lawyer.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, “What do you mean?”

Dean scoffs, “I’m barely payin’ the bills here and I have three jobs. I don’t have a lawyer on call or anything.”

“Three?” Castiel asks before he can stop himself and immediately just wants to punch himself in the face.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh, work at a mechanics shop in Henderson part-time. What’s it to you, anyway?” Dean sneers.

Castiel shrugs nonchalantly and replies, “I am your husband. Should probably know that kind of stuff.”

There’s a moment of quiet and Castiel is afraid the joke may fall flat, but then Dean’s mouth is growing and he’s smiling so wide and laughing heartily. It’s so beautiful and dazzling that Castiel isn’t noticing that he’s laughing along with him.

As the laughter settles Castiel looks at Dean and says, “I can pay for your lawyer. Don’t worry, Dean. This was all a mistake and I don’t want you to pay more for it than you have to, literally and metaphorically.”

Dean scoffs again and Castiel is recognizing that he does that a lot. 

“Dude,” Dean begins, “I can’t let you pay for my lawyer! That shit’s expensive!”

Castiel shrugs, “I can afford it.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “What are you, a doctor or something?”

“Yes,” Castiel says shortly. Dean does a double-take, “Woah. No fucking way.”

Castiel nods seriously, “Yes fucking way.”

Dean chuckles again and rubs at his eyes, the chuckle growing into a full body laugh as he says in that damn smokey and should-be-illegal voice, “Oh man! I hit the jackpot, didn't I?”

Castiel shrugs and smiles humbly, “We are in Vegas.”

Dean’s laughing subsides and he looks up to the ceiling, “Oh man...I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time…”

Another small hiccup of a laugh escapes and Dean closes his eyes. Castiel hadn’t realized before how long his eyelashes were but he definitely takes note now. Then those eyes are open and looking at Castiel and his smile isn’t sad anymore and Castiel realizes neither is his own.

“Did you call me ‘Cas’?” Castiel asks suddenly, surprising even himself. 

Dean immediately loses the smile and Castiel almost as suddenly regrets that he asked because he ardently wants those upturned lips back. Then something celestial happens—Dean is actually blushing. A lust similar to the one Castiel had felt not an hour ago in the hotel room after he’d awoken from that dream rises in him now as he recognizes that Dean is actually flustered.

“I, uh…” Dean says, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I don’t know…I called you that a few times the, uh…other night when we, uh, y’know, got married or whatever.” Dean clear his throat and Castiel is almost blushing as much as Dean now, “Anyway, it got a little weird to keep yelling out a food so I just…y’know…shortened it. I don’t know, man! It just stuck, I guess!”

Dean shuts up with that and Castiel is completely grateful and at the same time wants Dean to talk so much more. But all he’s able to do is nod and squeak, “Ah.”

“That and,” Dean suddenly lights up again, startling Castiel with his suddenness, “when I was fucking looking for you earlier today after you fucking bolted again I got fucking tired of calling out ‘Castiel’! It becomes a mouthful, dude!”

Dean ends this time with a grimace and the blush that’s stained Castiel’s cheek is now out of shame rather than lust. He ducks his head and bites his lip. He meant to apologize for that (or did he?) and explain himself. However, with Dean’s sudden passion at the subject Castiel isn’t all convinced a simple sorry will do. So, Castiel takes a risk and tests their limits. What will a little flirting hurt? Still biting his lip, Castiel looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and slowly moves his hands down his thigh and knees. He makes sure to lick his lips for proper lubrication in this difficult apology as he meets Dean’s gaze once more and says in his most sonorous and remorseful tone, “I’m sorry for that, Dean…I don’t…I don’t handle these sort of things well…I hate that I put you in this…position, and I just want it to be over as quick and painlessly as you do.”

Castiel is proud to see Dean tense and his pupils dilate. His jaw clenches deliciously and ok maybe a little flirting will hurt a lot, but Jesus was it worth it to see him like this. Dean licks his own lips and looks Castiel up and down slowly, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he meets Castiel’s eyes once more and it’s just like their gaze exists and nothing else in the universe. At least, nothing else until Dean speaks, his voice a lot more harsh and strained than Castiel was expecting, “Don’t do that.”

Dean gets up from the chair suddenly and moves to the door, the metal of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as Dean booms, “Annulment, right? That’s what we’re doing here nothing else. So don’t pull that shit, Cas.”

Castiel sighs and wants to apologize again but then he hears a click, and—did Dean just lock the door? Dean turns back around to him, hands behind his back and his head tilted back to expose all that tan skin on his neck, his gaze so sharp, passionate, angry, and soft as he says, “Right?”

Cas gulps. Yep, puke is definitely the last bodily function Cas wants to expel right now.

Dean is suddenly across the room again and straddling Cas like he did the folding chair. He pushes Cas back into the couch and Cas doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Dean as their faces come millimeters from one another, his hands slowly migrating up Dean’s thighs, feeling the material of his stripper pants and where the velcro is hidden to rip off with ease, as he replies with a whisper, “Right.”

Their breath tickles and teases each other’s wet lips for a moment and Cas wonders if he’s actually going to do it, actually going to move in and take. Dean’s eyes drift close and he starts to sway forward, to close that distance, and Cas’s hands are on his muscular back, pushing him forward to home. And then it’s like that part of a romance comedy movie where the two love interests are about to kiss and then something like a knock on the door interrupts them, because that’s exactly what fucking happens. Dean stops and sighs angrily, calling to the door that was so fucking rude, “Yeah?”

The Southern voice that Cas just _knows_ belongs to Benny calls back, “You’re on in ten, Dean.”

Cas knew he hated that guy for some reason.

Dean sighs and closes his eyes again, leaning back on Cas. Cas moves his hands down Dean's back and to his hips instead, knowing he should probably draw a line because sensible Dean was right. Right?...Fuck.

“‘K! I’ll be out soon!” Dean calls back, clearing his throat and shifting his eyesight down at Cas and his trusty lust.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as Castiel just has his hands on Dean’s hips useless and their just looking at each other. Castiel finally clears his throat and looks away, saying in a completely sober tone, “Duty calls.”

Dean makes a face like he’s lost something and Castiel wants to kiss those worried lines away and reassure him that he’s right here. But that’s not what happens. Dean just gets up off of Castiel and says, “Yeah…Back to the old grindstone.”

Castiel shrugs and stands as well, a signal that he should leave, “Or the old pole.”

Dean smiles and gives a halfhearted chuckle that Castiel knows he doesn’t deserve. They readjust their slightly tented pants as subtly as they can, making sure not to make eye contact. And then they walk to the door, but neither opens it. They just stand there, not quite looking at each other but not making it a big priority to look anywhere else.

“I’ll get a lawyer,” Dean says suddenly. Castiel looks at him with furrowed brow and begins to protest, “No, Dean, I can—”

Dean raises his hand and Castiel stops talking with a sag of his shoulders. Dean smiles sweetly and says, “I can get a lawyer, Cas. It just might, um, take a little time…How long are you in Vegas for?”

Castiel shrugs, “I’m not sure. At least until the end of the week, but it all depends on how my sister does in the tournament.”

Dean furrows and eyebrow at that, “Your sister?”

“The, uh, redhead,” Castiel stutters. Dean smiles with recognition and says, “Ah, yeah, I remember her...What-a pistol, geez. No offense! So until the end of the week, huh?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Probably until the end of the month. She’s quite good at poker.”

Dean huffs in amusement at that and opens the door finally. Castiel makes it past the threshold and then they stop again and just look at each other. Dean leans his elbow on the door frame and towards Castiel and it’s all far too tempting.

“I can work with that…Where can I reach you once I speak to ‘my lawyer’?” Dean asks, sarcastic air quotes and all. Castiel smiles and rolls his eyes, taking out his business card and handing it to Dean, adding, “My personal number is on there.”

“Hm, ‘k. Thanks,” Dean says, tucking it away into those pants which doesn’t make any sense to Castiel because isn’t he just going to strip them away in five minutes? Castiel doesn’t bring it up.

And there’s nothing more to say and there’s nothing more to do and then it feels all too similar to the end of a first date. Castiel’s hands are in his pockets and he’s rocking softly on the balls of his feet, not sure if he should lean back to walk away or lean forward to steal Dean away forever. Dean’s jaw is clenching and unclenching wildly and his hand fidgets on the door frame. And their eyes are occasionally meeting and when they do it’s like that’s all there is and it’s so intense and silly that they both just smile shyly and look away. Then, their gaze levels and they just see.

Another loud cheer from the bar breaks both their attention and Castiel turns his heavy eyes towards the door he came from. Dean clears his throat and says, “Well, that’s my queue. Better get back stage.”

“Uh-huh,” Castiel says dumbly. He turns to face Dean once more, to say goodbye and just run out of there like he always does. But when he turns back to Dean and opens his mouth to speak he finds two hands against his face, pulling him towards soft, warm lips. They kiss for only a moment, only a brief question of a second that also promises more and fuck that’s definitely not good. It’s just not good that’s it’s gone too soon and that Cas is thinking that it should have lasted so much longer. Because then Dean is just looking at him and smiling and he’s smiling and there’s no puke to be heard of.

Dean pats his cheek happily and says, “I’ll call you soon, Cas.”

And then he’s closing the door with a smile and Cas doesn’t know what just happened but he may or may not have stayed just to watch Dean strip. And during a performance he may or may not have watched from the shadows of the club, Cas may or may not have remembered why he married hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband in the first place.


	4. Stakes Up Higher

“You did _what_?!”

Castiel groans into his pillow as a response. It’s two in the morning and he had only returned to the hotel room an hour before. Anna, on the other hand, had arrived ten minutes ago and immediately inquired about Castiel’s fifth encounter with his husband. Castiel was and is still a little more than tipsy so he hadn’t even thought to lie to his sister, not until it was too late anyway…

“You can’t kiss him, Castiel! This is serious, you’re going to fuck up your annulment if you two fuck again!” Anna yells.

“Ugh, Anna, we’re not going to have sex!” Castiel replies just as loudly, although his head is already starting to pound from the preemptive fight, trying desperately to bury himself into the pillow.

“Wait. Are...are you drunk?!”

Castiel let’s out a low moan of confirmation.

“Castiel,” Anna says, now all too serious, “You went to go see Dean at ten. When did you get back?”

“We didn’t have sex, Anna! Just one really quick kind of platonic kiss? I’m not even sure it was that, it was all too fast, and ugh I want it back!” Castiel whines in what feels like one breath.

“What are you even saying, Castiel?” Anna sighs with defeat. Castiel hears movement from across the room and he knows through his drunken state that Anna has given up and is just as tired as him.

“I don’t know, I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, why is that anyway? I thought you weren’t going to drink for the rest of the trip?” Anna asks, the sound of shoes being kicked off and hitting the floor following her simmering voice.

“That was before fucking perfect-ass-stripper-Dean came along,” Castiel moans.

“Woah, look at you getting colorful with language. So what? You two kissed and afterwards you got shitfaced?” 

“ _He_ kissed _me_ ,” Castiel clarifies with a hiss.

Anna chuckles and Castiel kind of wants to punch her in the face too because this isn’t fucking funny. What was funny was Dean’s jokes and Dean’s laugh, not Castiel’s pathetic excuse for a life.

Anna’s in the bathroom now and Castiel is starting to drift to sleep again, desperately fighting against his drunk mind to keep himself from calling up the sexual memories to use as a personal bedtime story. Anna helps with that, though. She returns to the bedroom and Castiel doesn’t know why he knows this but he can actually tell that she’s brushing her hair by the sound alone. _God, drunk minds are weird._

“So,” Anna says, a lot calmer now and with a hint of curiosity, “are you going to see him again?”

Castiel opens his eyes at that, even goes so far as to lift his head a little from the pillow to look at his sister on her own bed, brushing her hair (score one for Castiel), before sloppily gesturing her over to him. Anna furrows her brow with confusion but complies to her brother none the less. She leans forward and her soft hair tickles Castiel’s stubble as he whispers into her ear, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Anna might have laughed or hit him or said something else, but Castiel doesn’t know because he’s falling asleep again, the memory of Dean’s voice drowning out everything else and ringing in his head like a sweet lullaby.

###### 

A loud ringing wakes Castiel suddenly at seven-to-friggin’-early in the morning. Castiel thinks he’s going to kill his sister for setting an actual alarm without warning him beforehand. It’s not like the persistent ringing hurts Castiel’s head because he doesn’t really have a hangover, but that doesn’t make him any more of a morning person.

“Anna,” Castiel growls at the other bed, refusing to open his eyes although the room is dark from the thick drapes drawn over the windows, “turn off your stupid alarm.”

“It’s not my alarm, your phone’s ringing,” Anna replies just as sleepily. “It’s probably your husband or something.”

If Castiel were awake for five more minutes he would see the sense in her teasing and probably let the call go to voicemail. However, Castiel is still half-asleep and his mind is drifting with the remainder of dreams of Dean’s lips which fuels his now dangerously pounding heart as he immediately takes Anna’s word as law. He shoots out of bed, racing to his phone and ripping it out of his charger, not even caring to look at the caller ID as he accepts it and and shouts with anxiety, “Hello?!”

“Dr. Novak?” a tender female voice that Castiel recognizes as Tessa’s, the surgeon Castiel works with, says with trepidation.

Castiel sighs with disappointment and rubs at his eyes, “Tessa, hi. Sorry, I just woke up.”

Tessa chuckles, “Vacation that good, huh?”

Castiel groans because Tessa seriously has no idea. Then Anna mumbles something about shutting up and Castiel shifts the phone to the other ear, walking out to the patio so as not to disturb his sister.

“Something like that. What can I help you with, Tessa?” Castiel flinches against the sudden bright light of the desert’s morning sun.

“I hate to call you on your vacation, but it’s about your out-patient you signed on before you left? Uh, a kid named Jesse Turner?”

“What about him?” Castiel leans against the railing and closes his eyes off to the brightness. Yes, Castiel remembers Jesse. The child was an adopted boy who was rushed into ER with pneumonia but ended up testing positive for AIDs. The child was put into Castiel’s pediatric ward and he had stabilized him for the time, but had been requested by the parents to be put under homecare. Castiel’s hand was basically forced to sign the child out of the hospital only a day before Castiel was put on mandatory leave after Anna showed, even though Castiel strongly advised against letting the child out of the hospital. After that Lilith, a little girl of not even seven who had leukemia that had been with Castiel for over three years, had died. Las Vegas was supposed to be an escape from all of this…

“Well, he went under cardiac arrest just last night,” Tessa begins. Castiel sighs. She continues to inform him that she needs him to sign off on an experimental surgery that could possibly buy Jesse more time, tells him she’s sent an email detailing the proceedings. Castiel let’s her know he’ll look it over right now and reply with his decision.

“Thank you, Castiel,” Tessa says with relief before hanging up. 

Castiel looks down at his phone for longer than he should after the call is ended. He tries to will himself to open up his mail app, to get the reading done with and to save Jesse another week or so with his adopted family, the only family he’s ever known or will know. Sometimes, Castiel hates his job more than anything.

The email is long but Castiel breezes through it because Tessa and he had gone over the proceeding before with another child. He replies shortly after with his digital signature. With another long sigh Castiel decides to get all his responsibilities done while he’s at it. He types out an email to Sam Winchester on his phone telling him he met up with his husband yesterday and that the man would let him know when he got in contact with his own lawyer. 

By the time the emails are read and sent Castiel is emotionally exhausted. He sets his phone down on the patio table he had been sitting at and gets up to lean against the railing. The Strip stares back at Castiel, loud and tremendous with its constant impending glow that resonates even in the bright morning light. It dazzles Castiel in a mocking way, too claustrophobic for comfort but interesting in how unique its own flavor of insane is. That’s one of the reasons he wanted to get out of Los Angeles, to go relax and spread his wings in a new environment. He hadn’t expected to spend the entire time on The Strip getting drunk or gambling, but to just kick back in his hotel room and read a good book or channel surf, a luxury that he rarely granted himself back home. Apparently, Castiel can’t even get that here.

Castiel looks onwards, though, past the massive mall, the crowd, the towering casinos, to the desert. There are actually quite a few mountains, seemingly surrounding the entire valley, although all of them are brown or grey. It’s mostly clear, clearer than LA’s constant smoggy atmosphere anyway, and although the sun is bright in the sky it does not impede Castiel from noticing a nice value change in blue all across from the horizon to directly above. A breeze blows and Castiel is so caught up in the clarity of the view beyond The Strip that he takes a deep breath, expecting fresh and crisp air. Instead he coughs, having breathed in a whole lungful of smoke and what smells like garbage. Castiel scowls downwards at the casinos and its thousands of patrons. He’s beginning to feel like the Grinch up on his mountain when his phone rings again. Thinking it’s Tessa with another request he picks up the phone and accepts the call without taking his eyes off the people bustling below, growling a, “What?”

“Woah, someone’s not much of a morning person,” Dean says with a hesitant chuckle. Castiel’s eyes go wide and he spins away from the railing, gasping, “Dean! Hi!”

Dean laughs again and Castiel suddenly finds comfort with a strange mixture of anxiety and relief at talking to the stripper.

“Yeah, it’s me, what’s up?”

“Just, uh,” Castiel takes a quick glance over his shoulder to the scene he was glaring at below, “doing a little sightseeing.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a hint of disappointment, “sounds like you’re busy.”

Castiel yawns, “Not at all, actually. Just tired and bored. I got woken up this morning by work.”

“Oh, hope it wasn’t anything serious?” Dean asks with a concern. Castiel suddenly feels uncomfortable and simply clears his throat. There’s a brief pause and then Castiel changes the subject before Dean can pursue the topic, “So why’d you call, Dean? Did you talk to your lawyer?”

“Uh, no, actually,” Dean chuckles, and there’s that endearing nervousness again, “Haven’t gotten in contact with him yet…I just, uh, thought you should have my number too, I guess.”

“Oh, thank you,” Castiel says, a little flustered by Dean’s trepidation.

“Yeah, I mean whatever. Anyway, I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Dean stumbles along. Castiel doesn’t know why he’s continuing their conversation if Dean just called to give Castiel his number, but he finds himself hesitant to end the call and that infuriates him.

“No, definitely not!” Castiel replies way too quickly. He slaps himself in the face while Dean replies, “Oh! Great then! Well, how are you likin’ the city?”

“I don’t,” Castiel replies sourly, turning back around to look over the ledge with a scowl. “No offense,” he adds.

Dean laughs, “No offense taken. Why don’t you like it?”

“It’s...loud. And smokey. And full of horny gamblers,” Castiel complains.

“Well, it’s not _all_ loud and horny,” Dean says and Castiel can tell there’s a smirk in there.

“Says you…” Castiel replies and he’s smirking too. Dean let’s out this gorgeous genuine laugh that’s so embarrassed and cute and Castiel considers just jumping over the railing because ew, gross, ‘cute’?

“Yeah, well…I promise Vegas isn’t just The Strip,” Dean says.

“Hm, I’m not convinced.”

“I could convince you,” Dean whispers. Castiel tries to wipe the grin off his face at the innuendo, but damn is it hard. _That’s not the only thing that’s getting hard_ , Castiel thinks as he palms at his pajama pants, willing himself to calm down. The next response comes out too shaky for Cas’s taste, “You could?”

“Have you ever heard of Boulder City?”

“Uh, no.”

“It’s a small town near Lake Mead and Hoover Dam that’s pretty quaint, I guess? And very much has its libido under control,” Dean says. They both laugh. It’s totally cute.

“I could, uh,” Dean continues shyly, “take you…to Boulder City, I mean. Today. Now. If you want, I mean…”

“Right now?” Castiel asks, a little aghast at the spontaneity of it all.

“Yeah, right now.”

“Um,” Cas says so dumbly. He looks behind him to the door where Anna still sleeps behind. It’s only a quick glance before he looks back over the ledge and past The Strip again, towards the mountains and the silence...And Dean.

“We don’t have to if you’re busy! I don’t wanna—”

“Yes,” Cas cuts Dean off. He twirls away from the ledge and squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to punch himself in the gut.

“Yeah?” And there’s that smile in his voice again. That same smile that makes Cas say once more although he knows he really shouldn’t, “Yes I’ll go to Boulder City with you today, Dean.”

Cas hits his head on the wall next to the sliding doors as Dean says, “Great! Yeah! I’ll tell Bobby I’m taking off today and I’ll come pick you up. Where are you staying?”

“Caesar's,” Cas replies, pushing open the doors and disregarding as Anna groans in protest.

“Caesar’s, ok, I’ll be there in an hour. Sound good?” Dean asks casually as Cas begins to freak out and kick open his suitcase sifting through his clothes. 

“Yeah, sounds good, see you then,” Cas says quickly as he throws clothes after clothes over his head.

“See you, Cas,” Dean says before Cas hangs up and throws his phone to the side. He sifts through all his clothes that he had brought and can’t find anything that’s good enough for this expedition with Dean. He shoves the suit he had worn the night of the drunk wedding aside as he tries to find the outfit that will scream: I’m kind of in love with you. Woops.

###### 

An hour later Cas is at the front of the hotel, rocking on the balls of his feet and periodically looking at his watch. He had finally decided to wear a dark blue pair of jeans, blue collared dress shirt with his favorite grey sweater snuggly over it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and brown loafers. And although he thinks the outfit looks good on him he doesn’t know about he himself. After finding his Cinderella outfit Cas hadn’t had too much time to do anything else besides shower and brush his teeth. So he stands on the curb, hoping he smells alright, his stubble isn’t too thick, and his hair isn’t that much of a disaster.

He’s looking down at his watch for nearly the twentieth time when a loud engine roars up near him. Out of sheer curiosity at the monster that’s causing the ruckus Cas looks up to find Dean smiling at him from a big black 1967 Chevy Impala. Cas can’t help but smile and roll his eyes as he makes his way to the passenger door.

“Hey-a, handsome,” Dean says with a confident smile as Cas closes the door.

“Are you talking to me or the car?” Cas asks as he buckles his lap belt.

Dean laughs ruthlessly and starts driving.

As they pull out of the Caesar’s Palace Cas makes sure Dean is looking at the road and not him before he does a once over of his husband. He’s never seen the man in any street clothing so he’s a little more than curious at Dean’s wardrobe. Cas is not disappointed. Dean’s wearing a well-fitted henley shirt the color of his eyes, jeans, and boots, casual enough but damn does he look good in it. 

They’re driving along Las Vegas Boulevard in a strangely comfortable silence. Cas is looking out the window at the bustle and endless stream of people when Dean says, “So definitely not a morning person?”

Cas replies without looking to Dean, “I don’t really know what mornings are anymore. My schedule usually has me working at odd hours in the hospital.”

“Ah, right, doctor. Do you specialize in anything or something like that? I don’t really know how that all works, so…”

“I’m the hospital’s pediatrician. I work with kids who have serious medical conditions like HIV, leukemia, diabetes, things of that nature,” Cas replies in a monotonous voice, straightening up and sitting back in the seat, closing his eyes. The car stops at a red light and Cas can feel Dean looking at him.

“Damn,” Dean says. Cas cracks his eyes open and looks over to Dean.

“What?”

Dean swallows and looks at the street again as the light turns green, a nervous smirk playing on his lips, “I don’t know, that just seems…Really amazing.”

Cas sighs heavily and looks back out the window just as they pass the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign, “Yeah, well, sometimes it doesn’t feel amazing…”

There’s a quick beat of silence and Cas takes advantage of it to change the subject, “So you are a morning person?”

Dean lets the topic fall without protest and instead laughs heartily in response, “Nah, not really. Just didn’t sleep that well last night.”

Cas furrows his brow, “No?”

“Nah. Well, I don’t even end my shift at the Roadhouse until four and then I was going to do some overwork at the shop at seven. So I guess I got one hour of shut eye?”

Dean’s voice is too lighthearted for a man who is sleep deprived. Cas sits up in his seat and fixes his gaze on Dean in all seriousness, “Dean, if you’re tired we don’t have to go anywhere. I could just--”

“No, I want to. I called you, remember?” 

“Yes, but--” Cas begins to protest once more before Dean cuts him off with one sharp look that thankfully dissolves into an honest smile. Cas closes his mouth and Dean looks back at the road in triumph and says warmly, “Really, I’m good. Here in Vegas you’ve gotta know how to work with as little sleep as you can get. Trust me, I’m wide awake and ready to hit the road!”

Cas relaxes a little at Dean’s confident tone and let’s himself sit back in his seat, meticulously watching Dean and trying to pick out any symptoms of fatigue. He can’t find one, and is soon looking for any flaw in Dean’s countenance at all. Not even a friggin’ pimple. Even the freckles that pepper is golden browned tanned skin seem to be placed there personally by Aphrodite’s hand. Cas furrows his brow and realizes he doesn’t know how old Dean is. He seems young, although Cas doesn’t know what age exactly from guessing, and is a little more than scared to find out. All Cas knows is that Dean has hints of laugh lines around his eyes that make Cas want to deepen them further.

“Do you listen to a lot of music?” Dean asks suddenly, reaching for the radio and snapping it on to some loud rock tune that seems dejectedly familiar. Cas watches Dean’s fingers fiddle with the nobs as he replies, “Not really. Classical stuff mostly. This is alright, though.”

“Yeah, AC/DC is the shit, man. I’m into the old rock and roll, not any of this new douchebag stuff.”

Cas smiles at Dean’s face as it grins at the road in fondness of the loud jam. It’s all too familiar, and although the tightness in his chest no longer makes Cas want to puke, he does feel a strong sense to do something else completely impulsive and stupid and gross. With that thought he relaxes further into the seat and watches the scenery pass him by, realizing that he’s not second guessing himself or hyperventilating or thinking about calling Anna to come save him. There must just be something about big muscle cars, Dean, and rock and roll that stresses Castiel out so bad that he’s just completely thrown over the edge of caring. That, and probably the fact that there’s actually scenery.

After passing some kind of massive mall called Town Square and getting off of a major highway that Cas wasn’t wholly convinced he would survive, they’re in the suburbs. There’s not too much to look at, but Cas takes it all in anyway because there are people here who look at least semi-sane and happy not being in front of a slot machine.

“So do you have any other siblings besides that pistol of a sister?” Dean asks. Cas smirks to himself and then to Dean.

“Yeah, I’ve got a pretty big family, actually. Besides Anna I have four brothers, and not to mention Anna’s husband, Uriel,” Cas answers.

Dean raises his eyebrows and whistles, “Shit, man. And I thought just having Sammy in my life was complicated enough.”

Cas rolls his eyes and picks at his cuticles, a little uncomfortable to be talking about family with his newly wed husband, “Yeah, well, what can you do? They’re family, right?”

Dean nods understandingly and doesn’t pursue any further. Cas is glad that Dean has the trait of sensing when someone doesn’t want to continue talking, although he’s sure he’ll play Hamlet to Dean’s Ophelia and pay for all this unwarranted secrecy later. Just the same, he’d rather not get into Zachariah or—God forbid—Naomi just now.

“What about you? Just your brother?” Cas asks trepidatiously. Dean shifts a little in his seat and bites at his lip in the way that’s not sexy (or, at least, that’s what Cas tells himself. But, honestly, when it comes to Dean and lips and biting that’s hotter than the sun to Cas no matter what context), and says, “Uh, yeah, basically…”

Now it’s Cas’s turn to know to shut up. He nods and looks outside the windshield, “Have you lived in Las Vegas your whole life?”

Dean let’s out a pathetic laugh at that and the offness of it catches Cas off guard.

“Nah, not really. I was born in small town in Kansas. Settled here when I was in my last year of highschool and just kind of never left,” Dean shrugs, his smile too forced for Cas to feel comfortable, eyes too trained on the road to be natural.

“So you like it?” Cas asks as gently as he can over AC/DC.

Dean shrugs, “No,” he looks over to Cas and gives him a half smile that sends Cas’s heart pounding with the remorse and kindness that had made him become a doctor: the innate sense to make him take it all away. Dean continues, “But who cares?”

And that just about stops Cas’s heart altogether, sure the tightness will finally strangle his poor heart like it had to Jesse. He straightens his shoulders and says loud enough so he knows Dean will hear him but quiet enough that it can seem thoughtful, “Me.”

Before Dean can say anything in reply Cas starts fiddling with the radio because he’s suddenly decided he’s tired of excruciatingly loud guitar riffs and drum solos. It’s very intimate, to touch Dean’s stuff like this, especially when he had told Cas how important music was to him, but he’s not stopping Cas either so he continues until the merciless music is off.

“Cassettes are down on the floorboard if you want to take a gander,” Dean hesitantly encourages, his voice breaking a little before he can clear it. Cas grabs at the box and sifts through the collection as a response. He narrows his eyes at everything before looking over to Dean with an equally judgemental look, “I know you said you like old stuff, but Dean. This is kind of pathetic.”

Dean let’s out a hearty laugh and sarcastically rolls his eyes, which makes Cas happy because he doesn’t think he can take even another glimmer of hurt in those beautiful eyes ever again—and he tells himself he only wants this for the benefit of his heart’s health, not because he just wants Dean to be happy.

“Nah, man those are classics!”

“Yeah, classically annoying,” Cas grumbles. Then, at the very bottom in a new case is an unmarked tape. He holds it up for Dean to see and asks, “What’s this one?”

Dean blushes and Cas thinks he might just die there in that car seat from how tortuous Dean has been making his gut feel in just such a short time. Dean tries to grab it from Cas but Cas is too quick and pulls it out of reach, smirking at Dean’s frustrated brow.

“It’s nothing, Cas,” Dean huffs.

“Oh, it’s something,” Cas grins cheekily.

“You sassy, bitch,” Dean growls, trying to keep his eyes on the road and amused smile subdued. Cas examines the case, continually blocking Dean’s attempts at grabbing at it in the mean time, “It looks fairly new.”

“That’s because it is, Sherlock.”

“Quiet down, Watson. Is this...Is this a mixtape?” Cas asks with amusement. Dean grumbles in acknowledgment. Cas laughs and starts putting it into the tape player, “Oh my, this should be good.”

“Fuck, don’t put it in!” Dean goes to grab at Cas’s hand but Cas just grabs his instead and pulls it away as he sticks it in. Some poppy rock song, that’s definitely not Dean’s taste, begins after a crackle of static. It vaguely reminds Cas of a band Anna listens to called The Killers and as the romantic lyrics begin Cas scoffs at the corniness. 

“Who made this for you? A lover?” Cas laughs.

Dean grumbles and turns an even darker shade of red. Cas’s laugh softness and becomes amazed as he says, “No.”

“Shut up,” Dean huffs under his breath.

“No, no! I’m not teasing you, that’s just...Cute?” Cas tries not to burst out laughing.

Dean finally tears his eyes off the road and reels on Cas, mock yelling, “Did you just seriously say ‘cute’, dude?!”

Cas smiles sheepishly and let’s out something that resembles Barry White giggling. Dean loses it at Cas’s expression and they both fall into a fit of manly giggles as The Killers sing on. That’s when Cas realizes that he’s still holding Dean’s hand, that Dean hasn’t pulled away. And so they drive on, and Cas intertwines their fingers and Dean doesn’t say a thing.

“I like it,” Cas comments. Dean smiles over at him and doesn’t ask if he’s talking about the tape or something else.

The drive goes on and so does the tape. After they’ve left the suburbs, which was endearingly similar and full of parks, the Impala makes its way back onto a twisting highway which they drive on for what seems like forever, slowly getting closer and closer to the south eastern mountains.

Dean has notified Cas that they’re passed Henderson, a town outside of Vegas, as “A Little Less Conversation” finishes and Cas has to flip over the tape. The highway begins to hug the mountain just as none other than Lady Gaga’s “You and I” begins to play. Cas bites his lip and tries to not to smile as he sees Dean balk.

“Oh my god,” Dean whines loudly and Cas loses it.

“Cas!” Dean groans as he tries to take his hand away from Cas’s and turn off the tape, “This is torture!”

“Stop! I kind of like this song,” Cas admits with a smile. Dean stops struggling and looks over to Cas for a brief moment of uncertainty, saying, “You do?”

Cas shrugs, “I don’t listen to modern stuff a lot, but this is nice. Cute.”

“Cute?” Dean asks with so much judgement in his tone Cas wonders if Dean could be a critic. Cas just looks over to him with a small smile and repeats, “Cute.”

Dean’s smile widens before he looks back to the road, giving Cas’s hand a squeeze before muttering, “That’s so gay.”

Cas bursts out laughing at that and so does Dean after a moment. The laughter mingles with Gaga and the mountain is now right to their left.

“ _This time I’m not leavin’ without you_ ,” Cas sings suddenly. He’s surprised that he remembers the lyrics from two years ago, but everything comes so much easier to him when he’s with Dean, and yet so much harder too. He looks over to Dean shyly and sees Dean smirking at the road.

“ _He said sit back down where you belong!_ ” Dean begins to sing and Cas laughs loudly in surprise. Dean rolls his eyes and says, “Oh shut up…”

“ _...Corner of my bar with your high heels on,_ ” Cas sings, prompting Dean with a bob of his head to keep singing.

“ _Sit back down on the couch where we made love the first time and you said to me,_ ” Dean sings louder this time. And then they’re singing together, “ _Somethin’, somethin’ about this place!_ ”

And then they’re rounding the mountain and Cas is so awestruck that he forgets to sing. Beyond the mountain, down below is a massive valley of vacant void. It seems to run on forever and is so beautiful in its expansive emptiness. And yet there’s something more there; there’s emotion and feeling because he and Dean are sharing that moment, singing along to Lady Gaga, holding hands and being happy in the cliche they are living out and accepting. Cas smiles.

_Somethin’, somethin’ ‘bout lonely nights and the lipstick on your face.  
Somethin’, somethin’ about my cool Nebraska guy._

Cas looks over to Dean and sees that Dean is looking back at him too. And it’s so disgusting and just...cute. It’s so fucking cute but just then, looking right at Cas over this grand valley, Dean sings with the song but speaks to Cas: “Yeah something about, baby, you and I.”

###### 

To Dean's ego's delight Cas admits that Boulder City is not what he expected at all. It’s a small town right on Lake Mead’s shores with everything a small town would have and Las Vegas does not. There’s a small airport for helicopter rides right outside of it that flies over the valley they had passed, and beyond it is Hoover Dam. The town is remarkably quaint, full of local food shops, antique stores, and old houses. 

Dean had parked the Impala on Main Street and proceeded to tow Cas to one of the greasiest local breakfast restaurants. Cas scowling down at the menu when he feels Dean’s foot bump against his own. Cas looks up and sees Dean smirking at him questionably.

“If you tell me you’re a vegetarian I might just have to write the annulment on this napkin and sign it right now,” Dean coos. 

Cas chuckles and shakes his head, “Nah, I just try to stay away from things that will kill me.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t’ve married me,” Dean teases.

“Yeah, starting to see that now…” Cas says, furrowing his eyebrows down at the menu and flipping it over and over. Dean laughs at Cas’s tone and it makes his cheeks flush, glad that he can conjure up that magical chuckle.

The conversation goes like this throughout their brunch. Cas whines about how even the fruit crepe he ordered is greasy and Dean teases Cas by getting extra bacon.

After the meal they head out to walk among the shops and joke back and forth. It’s slow and easy, and Cas doesn’t know how but doesn't take the time to question it like he thinks he might. At some point they’re hands meet and neither of them seems to mind as they effortlessly intertwine.

They come upon a large two story antique shop and Cas pretends not to care. It seems that Dean is too keen on Cas’s behavior at this point, though, to let the miniscule glance go unnoticed.

“Do you want to go in, grandma?” Dean teases.

“Grandpa, sometimes I just want to take you out back and shoot you,” Cas quips back.

Dean smiles and tugs on Cas’s hand to pull him into the shop.

“No, Dean, really it’s alright,” Cas hardly protests.

“Nah, nah, let’s go in! We have to complete our completely gay married persona anyway.”

Cas rolls his eyes and let’s himself be pulled into the wooden building. And just like God wants to prove Cas the most ridiculous man on earth, the owners of the shop is an old woman and it seems like all the workers are about her age too. There are hardly any other patrons in the large antique shop, and so nearly all of them swarm around Cas and Dean almost immediately to swoon.

“Claire, Matilda, get back! My goodness, you hounds!” the owner shoos some of the employees that had pounced on the two of them back before turning her own attention to Cas and Dean.

“I’m sorry about that, we just have such excited workers! My name’s Missouri. How may I help you two fine gentlemen this evenin’?” The kind woman asks sweetly.

Cas smiles at her and shrugs, “Just looking.”

“Newly weds?” Missouri asks immediately.

Cas and Dean both jump back a share sidelong looks as they stammer, “Um…”

“How did you…?” Dean begins. Missouri simply points to their conjoined hands and the ring on Cas’s finger. They both blush and look away from each other.

“Oh don’t be so modest! You two are just perfect for each other, I can tell,” Missouri muses happily.

Cas tries to give the most polite scoff he can before Dean shoots him a look and turns back to the woman, “How do you figure?”

“Well, I’m a bit psychic, you see,” Missouri replies. Cas resists rolling his eyes.

“Actually, I’m a practicing psychic. I could give you a reading if you’d like? Half off,” Missouri smiles.

“No, thank—”

“Sure,” Dean interrupts Cas. Cas shoots Dean a look of disapproval which Dean adamantly ignores with a smug smile as Missouri claps her hands together, “Perfect! Y’all come on to the back then. Follow me.”

Dean follows right away, towing a grumbling Cas behind him, but not without hissing into Dean’s ear first, “I didn’t know you believed any of this bullshit.”

“I listen to you, don’t I?” Dean says smoothly, chin held high as he quickens his pace to keep up with the short plump woman trotting ahead. Cas’s scowl deepens at the comment.

They enter into a small, musty room through a curtain in the back. The room has a completely different atmosphere than the quaint, feminine quality of the store outside. In here everything is set in dim lighting, smoke billowing around it from incense and the walls are draped in deep purples and reds, giving a stereotypical feel of mystical representation to the hole. There’s a small table against the wall under a round mirror that Missouri gestures to. Cas and Dean sit on one side in cushioned chairs as Missouri sits on the other and pulls out a deck of cards.

“Are we going to play bridge?” Cas asks sarcastically. Dean elbows him in the side and hisses, “They’re tarot cards.”

“That’s exactly right,” Missouri says as she begins shuffling them in an unorthodox manner, occasionally aggressively rubbing her hands together.

“And those will tell us our future?” Cas asks with a cocked brow.

Missouri gives him a pointed look and says to Dean, “I’d watch this one, son, he’s got a sharp tongue on him.”

“Don’t I know,” Dean replies. Missouri giggles and Cas steps on Dean’s toe under the table.

“But no, they do not tell you the future, not exactly. They tell you where you are presently, and where your present self is leading your future self. But everything is up to you,” Missouri continues as she begins to lay out her cards.

“What about the minor arcana? Aren’t those out of our control?” Dean asks. Cas raises a brow at him but Dean ignores it, focusing instead on Missouri.

“Very good, but I don’t think so. Since you can change your major arcana I can’t see why you can’t with the minor,” Missouri explains. Dean nods his head in understanding. Cas is confused and more than a little unsettled by the exchange.

Missouri lays down the shuffled deck and gestures to Cas, “Cut the deck, child.”

Cas looks from Missouri to the deck to Dean and then back to the deck before finally just lifting up the top half and laying it beside the other half.

“Now, one of you ask a question,” Missouri continues.

There’s a short pause and then Cas says in a sarcastic tone, “Will we get a cat or dog?”

Dean let’s out a laugh and then turns it into a cough at Missouri’s poisonous look. Then he asks, “How will we do as a couple? Will it last?”

Cas looks up at Dean but can’t catch his eye. _Is he serious?_

Missouri counts out a strange, seemingly random order of cards and lines them in a tricky fashion. By the time she’s finished counting out the cards there are three columns, the one on right and left having three and the one in the middle with four. She slowly turns each one up and scowls at. Once all ten are turned up Dean and Cas have grabbed each other’s hands since her scowl is so deep, and Cas doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous as to this crackpot’s answer. 

Finally, Missouri turns her deep, dark eyes that don’t look like any grandma’s Cas has ever seen, onto the two men. Then, she says solemnly, “You didn’t tell me you two accidentally got married.”

Cas nearly jumps out of his seat at that. He looks up to Dean—who looks irritatingly calm—before saying in a rough, accusing voice, “How did you—”

“You two,” Missouri interrupts, “are the most compatible couple I’ve ever seen.”

Cas and Dean are silent for a moment before Dean finally says in an unbelieving tone that gives Cas hope, “I thought you just said we got married on accident, though?”

“Was I wrong?” Missouri asks calmly.

“Well, no, but—” Cas begins.

“Then shoosh and let me finish my reading,” Missouri says with a smile before directing their attention back at the cards, “Each one of these is turned towards you and is of the highest major arcana. Except the integration card.” Missouri points to the card at the top of all three columns, a woman on a throne with a sword in one hand.

“You two, as partners, could accomplish anything together. However, as long as the Queen of Swords is reversed you will never find true happiness in one another or in your separate lives. Which is, to say, if one of you,” Missouri looks at Cas this time, “does not open up your mind to the possibility of fate and keep a clear, unbiased point of view as to this relationship, then you will destroy both of your lives. If you do find it in you to change your perspective for the better, you two will flourish into one of the most magnificent love stories of the century.”

Cas and Dean are both silent for a very long time, handholding forgotten as they stare into Missouri’s endless eyes and let her foreboding words circle them among the room like the smoke from the continually sizzling incense stick. Finally, she sits back with a smile and Cas and Dean both breathe, but do not look at one another for they know there is too much comfort in each other’s gaze for them to be comfortable.

The accuracy of the first part of the reading was scary, too close for Cas. He’s not sure about the second part, but it has him judging his own skepticism as he thinks of one person in particular…

“Wait,” Cas says as Missouri begins putting away the cards, “Can you do yes or no questions?”

Missouri eyes him guardedly and then nods, adding, “But that’s another payment at full price.”

Cas sighs and says, “Fine, can I just ask it something?”

Missouri smiles and warms up to Cas, reshuffling the deck, “Of course, darling.”

Cas opens his mouth to ask the question and Missouri holds up a hand, “You don’t have to speak the question out loud, son. Just focus on it in your mind as I draw the cards.”

Cas nods in understanding and watches as she pulls out a card every six discarded. Silently he thinks: Will Jesse Turner survive the surgery? Finally, she lays them all out and looks down at them briefly before looking up at Cas and saying: “No.”

A shorter pause occurs than before but for Cas it feels like a lifetime. He doesn’t recognize that he’s been gripping Dean’s hand. A part of Cas hopes Missouri’s prophecies are true, while another part of him prays that this is all a fat farce.

“That will be $125, please.”

###### 

“Ok, what is it?”

“Hm?” Cas says, looking up from the ground to Dean. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at Cas and it makes Cas feel a pang of guilt although he’s not sure why (like he ever is).

“What’s the matter? You’ve been really quiet for the last hour and it’s really starting to worry me,” Dean says with an unwarranted passion as they reach the Impala. 

Cas sighs in response and looks towards the mountains. They’re too far away and Cas feels himself crawling out of his skin with Dean’s eyes so concentrated on him.

“Is it about that stupid tarot reading?” Dean asks. Cas looks back to Dean, knowing he doesn’t need to answer. Dean laughs shortly and it’s that same laugh he used earlier when talking about how nobody cares about him. Cas never wanted to hear that laugh again, and now he’s caused it. That also means he has to fix it.

“It’s about me, right?” Dean asks, his voice breaking as he looks off at the same mountain.

“Yes and no,” Cas replies truthfully. The easiness has disappeared and Cas is left with words falling heavily short on his tongue.

Dean takes a deep breath and shrugs, clears his throat, “I understand…”

“No, you don’t.”

Dean’s eyes turn back to Cas with surprise and a flicker of anger. He’s glad his rough, assertive tone finally cut through Dean’s hard head, though, and unafraid of that flicker. Cas looks off again, to the ground and not the mountain, biting at his lip as he struggles to say, “Today was fantastic. You are fantastic. It’s just…There’s other things going on in my life…Other people…”

“What, do you have a boyfriend?” Dean asks, the anger rising more noticeably now. Cas can only roll his eyes, “No, Dean! I didn’t mean romantically! Patients, other people. And I just…”

He searches for words in the sky, wondering if anything will fall from it onto him that will help him perfectly construct a sentence of his distraught mind to this frustrating man. His hand reaches out for Dean’s and holds it gingerly.

“I just worry…” Cas says finally, his gaze falling upon Dean’s once more.

Dean’s eyes soften. His hand let’s go of Cas’s and for a split second he’s afraid he’ll never get it back, that Dean can’t understand and that he’s lost everything. But then he feels a strong arm wrap around his back and pull him in closer, right against Dean’s side. They’re mouths are so close now and Dean smiles down at Cas in a way that communicates it all. Cas feels light headed, indestructible yet so vulnerable under those intense brightness of those eyes like the desert’s afternoon sun.

Dean leans in a centimeter more and Cas wishes he could build a home right in Dean’s mountain arms. Dean breathes against Cas’s lips, “Let me take you to Arizona.”

###### 

The mixtape plays some soft acoustic song on repeat that has Cas completely drunk with peace as they drive over the Hoover Dam. Dean and Cas’s fingers are loosely twined as they pass over into Arizona, the gesture a vague lazy shadow of the day they had spent together thus far. Cas wonders why boundaries exist, why each land is so different and yet the exact same and why humans feel the need to separate them so precisely. Dean’s fingers squeeze lightly at Cas’s and he forgets everything else except that point of connection between them.

_Take me out of the city_  
True love I will not find  
Take me in new one’s heart  
Take me out of my mind. 

Cas closes his eyes and let’s the sun bathe him in warmness through the window that equals the burning inside of his heart.

He feels the Impala slow and turn onto a gravely road but still does not open his eyes. They slowly twist down and down and Cas breathes in as Dean rolls down his window. Here there’s no trash or cigarette smoke, just fresh air. The squeezing of Cas’s heart could kill him, and he would be content with the result.

And then the Impala levels and stops. Cas feels soft lips on his temple and then a whisper into his hair, “Wake up, loser.”

Cas smiles and cracks his eyes open to meet Dean’s gaze so close to his. He mutters sleepily, inching an arm around Dean’s looming chest, “You married me, so who’s the loser here?”

Dean laughs and leans in. Cas closes his eyes and waits for lips to touch his own, but instead just feels a brush against his stubbled cheek. He grumbles and loosens his grip as Dean pulls away, saying, “C’mon, get up. We’re here.”

And then the car is empty and Cas grumbles as he stretches and finally gets out of the car begrudgingly.

However, all negative thoughts are soon swept away as Cas’s eyes fall upon a small lake. Hundreds of ducks float along the ripples of this small body of water, cupped in the hand of mountains overhead. Cas’s mouth hangs open at the beautiful sight which gets even better as he feels those arms return to him once more, sneakingly wrapping around Cas’s torso from behind as Dean leans in and whispers, “Welcome to Willow Beach.”

Cas turns his head to Dean and says, “Goddamn.”

Dean laughs and kisses Cas’s cheek again. Cas looks back at the supposed beach once more, although it’s not quite that, but it’s not a lake or pond either. It’s just there, just for them. They’re the only two in the parking lot and the pier; it’s theirs. Cas feels like crying, “It’s beautiful.”

The hands that had been holding him now loosen and smooth over Cas’s chest and onto his back, Dean’s nose moves against his neck and into his hair like lovers do. Cas shivers with delight, and then Dean pulls away all together and grabs Cas’s hand, tugging him towards the shore.

“I come fishing here whenever I have free time. It’s way below the highway and not a lot of people know about it, so it’s usually really peaceful,” Dean explains as he leads him down the steps and onto the rocky shore.

“How did you find it?” Cas asks as he stands beside Dean, looking out over the water with awe. Above he hears that song playing from the Impala. 

“My uh, dad showed it to me…” Dean says hesitantly. Cas doesn’t ask further.

“So you, uh...you like it?” Dean asks delicately.

Cas turns towards Dean and looks into those eyes he knows he’s grown too accustomed to, too intimate with. He doesn’t care, can’t care. Cas can’t conjure up words for the clenching but he realizes he doesn't need to. So he lets go. The worry washes away with the tide and Cas simply leans in and kisses Dean. There’s a distinguished difference between a kiss with somebody you’ve grown to tell yourself you love and with somebody you actually love. Cas had never known the difference, had just known the love from Meg and nothing else. Now, Cas sees the difference.

_Take me out of the city_  
May I never return  
Let the song of the mountain  
Be the one that I’ve earned. 

Naturally, without worry or hardship, they pull away. Hesitantly, wanting the kiss to linger just a little more, they open their eyes to meet one another’s. Dean smiles first, and Cas shortly follows. Their arms are locked around one another, Cas’s hand on Dean’s neck and just barely touching the back of his short hair contentedly.

“Damn,” Dean says with a chuckle. Cas nods and says softer, “Damn.”

“You’re good at this,” Dean says, his hands moving down Cas’s back. Cas shrugs, “Practice makes perfect.”

Dean laughs and playfully shoves Cas away, Cas grabbing at his hand to keep the connection, “Shut up!” Dean chuckles.

Cas pulls Dean back into a quick kiss before separating once more. They hold hands and walk against the shoulder of the shore.

“So you like it, right?” Dean asks after a beat. 

Cas laughs loudly, “Yes, Dean, I love it.”

“You do?” Dean asks, turning to Cas with excited nervous eyes. Cas meets the gaze and nods solemnly, squeezing his husband's hand before looking out over the calm water.

“Honestly,” Cas starts, not sure if he should stop himself or not befores he says, “I’ve always wanted to get married at a place like this…”

Dean laughs, “Fuck you, no you didn’t!”

Cas bumps into him and turns his nose up, “I so did!”

“Well,” Dean says, suddenly very quiet, “sorry your wedding was the Little Chapel of Flowers instead.”

Cas looks up at Dean and asks, “How can you remember a detail like that and I can barely even remember having sex with you?”

Dean laughs and looks back at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “Because you’re a complete lightweight.”

Cas smiles at him and says, “I’m going to drown you in this lake.”

Dean laughs and kisses Cas’s stubbly cheek daringly. Their laughter simmers somberly as Cas looks over the water once more.

“My first wedding had flowers in it too. I hated it,” Cas says suddenly. Dean stops and Cas’s heart kicks it into high gear. _Uh-oh._

“You’ve been married before?” Dean says, dropping Cas’s hand. Cas looks over the water and bites his lip, unsure of how to continue. He sticks with honesty: “Yes.”

Dean furrows his brow, “When?”

“About four years ago?” Cas says, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes right now although he knows he should.

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, just the song above and the waters below filling in their lost conversation until finally Dean says, “Do you still love him?”

Cas smirks and looks up at Dean at that, saying, “No, I don’t love her anymore. I never did.”

Dean’s eyes involuntarily bug out at that and Cas has to laugh, reaching for Dean once more. Dean accepts the gesture and wraps his arm around Cas’s waist, continuing their walk.

“Will you tell me about it?” Dean asks hesitantly. Cas sighs and looks up at the late noon sky, sun hidden by the close mountains, “Her name was Meg. We were high school sweethearts. She was the only woman I had ever been with. To everyone we were in a monogamous relationship, at the dinner table we were in a monogamous relationship too…”

“But?” Dean beckons on after a pause. 

Cas smirks at the sky and says, “But she liked to sleep with a lot of men. She didn’t think I knew,” Cas smiles over to Dean then and says, “But what she didn’t know is that I liked to sleep with a lot of men too.”

Dean laughs at that and gives Cas’s side a squeeze. Cas smiles triumphantly but looks back ahead to concentrate on his story, “We went to the same college together so it didn’t make any sense for us to break it off. We were kind of too busy to do anything other than be a couple, and she was a good study buddy. That was sort of our relationship, she would help me study and I would pick her up from parties I didn’t attend and hold her hair as she puked in my toilet.”

“Sounds more like a gay best friend than anything,” Dean comments. Cas smiles at that before continuing, “Sort of. I mean, we still had sex just not a lot and it wasn’t as good as fucking my male professors. But we just kind of...went on? We never found anybody else to date so we just didn’t break up. And when I decided to pursue my medical degree we just moved in together. After that everyone was telling me the next step was marriage, so I proposed. We had a Spring wedding, everyone showed up, and we were man and wife. That was basically it. We weren’t unhappy but we weren’t happy. I got my degree, started my residency and then Meg was asking for babies.”

Dean tenses up by Cas’s side and Cas can relate to the feeling. He sighs at the memories, remembers Meg’s black hair looming over his head as she tried to seduce him into having children with her, into just not using the pill anymore and ‘giving it a shot’.

Cas gives Dean an awkward smirk and says “Don’t worry, I don’t have kids. I told her I wasn’t ready and she didn’t like that. She refused to have sex with me until I agreed on having children.”

Dean seems out of breath as he asks, “And so? What did you do?”

Cas smirks at the ground and says, “I fucked her boss.”

There’s a choking noise beside Cas as Dean halts once more and looks down at Cas with wide eyes.

“What?” Cas asks calmly, even a little concerned.

“You fucked her boss?” Dean asks with disbelief.

Cas nods and says with a grimace at the memory of the flamboyant man, “He wasn’t even that good.”

Dean loses it at that and starts laughing uncontrollably. After a while Cas joins him, seeing how ridiculous the situation must seem to the observer. They laugh for a long time, and then Dean straightens up and wipes away tears from his eyes, still chuckling and saying, “Oh my god, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”

Cas smiles at Dean’s beaming face.

“So?” Dean prompts, “What happened after that?”

Cas shrugs and looks back at the sky, “Nothing, really. She found out, just like I intended, called me a fag and liar. Told me to get out of her life. So I did.”

Cas looks at the ground with a sad smile, remembering how evil Meg had gotten during the divorce, how she had asked for everything and surrendered nothing. If it weren’t for Sam Cas would probably not have been able to finish his residency. He looks back at Dean and says, “That’s it, Dean. That’s all that was. Just a dirty smudge on my life. I promise.”

Dean meets his gaze and Cas thinks he might die from the view. Dean’s sparkling green eyes, his Adonis face and the beach behind him with the mountains creating the perfect back drop. Cas pretends that this is his wedding, looking at his future husband with the lake and soft splashes of the water as the background. Cas’s hand reaches out and pulls Dean into a kiss once more because that’s all he really can do. That’s all he wants to do. The kiss is more important this time, so much more heavier with a secret revealed. Cas’s hands come up to cup Dean’s face and Dean’s own hands cover them, not letting Cas pull away as their tongues dip inside each other’s mouths and tangle with one another, mapping out the contours of the other’s smile. There’s an inch between their bodies, and every time Cas tries to step closer Dean steps back, teasing Cas’s limits. Finally, breathless, they detach from one another. Dean looks deep into Cas’s eyes, deep into him, and asks in a breath that Cas cannot find, “Let me take you home, Cas.”

Cas knows Dean isn’t talking about his hotel or LA. Cas also knows that Anna was right last night about something like this being dangerous. And Cas knows that Dean has knowledge about him now that leave him vulnerable like he's never been before with anybody else. But it’s not what Cas knows that tempts him towards the unknown, just like the city doesn’t interest him like the mysterious void of a desert’s valley does. It’s what Cas doesn’t know that has him leaning in for another kiss, it’s not knowing if Missouri was really right, not knowing who this man really is, not knowing if he trusts himself enough for all of this. It's the clenching, the tide of the quiet beach, and the mountains shading them from the afternoon sun. It's Dean.

It’s all of these things combined that has Cas whispering against Dean’s lips, “Okay.”

###### 

Dean lives in a one story house on a cul de sac in what Dean described as not the “best area in Vegas”, located a little North of The Strip. Cas doesn’t care about that right now, though. Right now he's anxious and horny, the hour and half drive back to Dean’s place having Cas moving his hand from Dean’s to the man’s thigh, watching as Dean’s nostrils flared and his breath stuttered ever so slightly. Cas may not have had anything to drink this time, but he is drunk on Dean and damn it to hell if that impairs his judgment, Cas wants to fuck Dean into any surface that will hold them.

What feels like years finally pass as they sloppily park on Dean’s driveway. Cas doesn’t care if they aren’t even inside, he wants Dean. So as soon as Dean turns off the engine Cas unbuckles efficiently and swings himself over the middle frontseat of the old Impala to straddle Dean’s lap. He grips onto Dean tightly and pushes his tongue in his mouth right away. Dean doesn’t seem to mind the suddenness as he wraps his arms around Cas too and kisses him back with just as much passion. Cas feels one hand slide down his back to his ass just as one of the arms loses Cas and moves for the door handle. Cas gasps as Dean opens the car door and, with strength that doesn't surprise him more than impress him, lifts him onto his hips and stands up with Cas still straddling him, keeping their mouths locked on one another’s.

It’s getting dark now, but even if it wasn’t Cas probably wouldn’t be worried about anybody seeing them, not as long as Dean’s carrying Cas to the threshold and unlocking the door one handedly. When their inside, Dean kicks the door closed with his foot and slams Cas against the hall wall, migrating from his mouth to Cas’s neck. He lets his head fall back and bang against the stuco in order to allow Dean more access and let’s out a smooth moan as Dean nibbles at the corner of his jaw. Cas feels a little readjusting, presumably because Dean kicks off his shoes, before Dean lets out an actual growl and takes a few steps back with Cas firmly mounted on his hips. Cas takes the opportunity to wiggle off of Dean’s hips and onto his own two feet. Then Cas is on Dean, pushing him up against the opposite wall in the foyer, grinding his hips into Dean’s so deliciously, tugging up Dean’s henley shirt to feel at the hot flesh. It’s a little awkward getting it over Dean’s head, but just as he does Cas attacks Dean’s exposed collarbone.

As they bite and kiss at one another, Dean pushes against Cas as a motion for him to move backwards and happily Cas complies. It’s Dean’s turn to bite at Cas’s neck and so Cas keeps his eyes open, making sure they're not tripping over a coffee table. Cas spies the couch then and pushes right up onto Dean, forcing him to move back this time until his knees hit the couch and he falls back onto it. Now Dean is sitting on the couch, mouth swollen from biting and kissing so passionately, open so perfectly as he gapes at Cas in the quickly fading sunlight pouring in from a small window in the room. Cas towers over Dean, looking at his beauty as he hikes up one knee against Dean’s hip, keeping constant eye contact as he removes his sweater. He makes sure Dean is watching him as he starts unbuttoning his dress shirt with slow, meticulous fingers. Dean smiles and moves his hands up Cas’s jean clad thighs and up to his hips.

“What’s so funny?” Cas asks as he opens his shirt to reveal his thin, muscular tan chest. Dean’s hands move up even further, framing Cas’s groin before moving on and converging together on Cas’s bare chest.

“And they call me the stripper,” Dean smirks. Cas let’s out a chuckle and lifts his other leg to completely straddle Dean once more. Dean loses his grin at that, instead turning into a breathless gasp as he watches Cas sit on him, dipping down to give a long, drawn out bite on Dean’s bottom lip.

“Ah, fuck me,” Dean moans as Cas bites at his naked shoulder. His nimble fingers start loosening Dean’s belt and unbuttoning his pants as Cas whispers, “That’s the plan.”

Dean doesn’t have time to let out another moan as Cas bends over to cover his mouth with his own. He licks and kisses downwards, getting off of Dean’s lap and instead kneels on the ground in between Dean’s legs, not letting his lips leave Dean’s chest as he slowly moves down further. His jeans are now completely unclasped and Cas makes quick work of pulling them down, but leaves the boxer briefs. Dean’s breath hitches from above as Cas’s mouth brushes over the bulge straining against the thin cloth. It jerks towards Cas’s mouth, a small wet spot already forming at the top. Cas’s insidious fingers ghosts over Dean’s heavily breathing chest and down to his hips where the elastic digs in. He slowly hooks his fingers underneath it and pulls them down. Dean let’s out a long moan as Cas immediately wraps his plump lips around the head. Cas let’s his tongue work its magic over the tip, hands going firm on Dean’s hips to keep him from bucking too hard. And then, ever so slowly, Cas moves his mouth down Dean’s shaft.

“Fuck, Cas, c’mon,” Dean begs, but Cas doesn’t listen. He lets his mouth move down with a slowness that could torture even the most patient man. His tongue flattens against the underside of Dean’s cock and the moan that it elicits has Cas going a tad faster, pushing harder against the vein that pulses on the underside. Cas has never particularly enjoyed giving blowjobs, always seeming too technical to be sexy for the giver, but has grown exceedingly good at them since so many men have enjoyed his lips. However, knowing that it's Dean's dick moving up and down his torturous tongue, Dean's heavy cock filling his mouth and leaking on his taste buds, Cas finds himself getting almost as much pleasure as Dean who's still attempting to stifle his growing moans. That's when Cas looks up and catches those gleaming eyes watching his analytical ones, sure that the look of lust that fills Dean's is mirrored in his own. Dean's pink mouth is parted, one hand gripping at his own hair as he gasps sharply. And then Cas points his tongue and puts all his attention on the head. That's when Dean loses control of his voice, moaning loudly and snapping his eyes shut, his other hand flying to Cas's hair and gripping it tightly. He doesn't pull or push Cas up or down but it's so fucking hot for Cas none the less that Dean is tugging at both of their heads, wants them both to have the same experience. And fuck, Cas is.

"Ungh, Cas! Shit," Dean moans surprisingly softly through huffs of breathe. Cas looks back up at Dean and sees how he tries to reign himself back, eyes still screwed shut as he bites at his lip. Cas sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks at the sight. Dean's grip get tighter and Cas sees Dean dig his teeth harder into his lip, feels his thighs tense where he kneels between them.

"Fuck, Cas I'm gona—" Dean manages out before Cas pops off suddenly. Dean let's out a sigh of either frustration or gratitude as he loosens his hand in each of their hairs. The reprieve Cas allows is short, he just wanted Dean to want it that much more but not cum. And then his hands are moving up Dean's upper thighs until he reaches his cock and grabs the base of it, squeezing it as he lurches forward so his mouth is over Dean's ear and whispers, "I want you to cum on my cock, Dean."

He feels the thick cock lurch in his hand, matching Dean's whimper as he tries to release the ecstasy, but Cas's grip is too tight around the base to allow such an act. Cas digs his teeth into Dean's neck and he can feel the release of not Dean's ejaculation but his control. Dean digs the pads of his thumbs into Cas's hips, suddenly standing up and forcing Cas to do the same. When they're on their feet, swaying slightly from the suddenness, Dean crashes his mouth into Cas's. It's passionate, rough, and fueled with so much emotion that Cas gives up on trying to decipher what it all means. Like the tides of the small beach, he allows himself to be swept away by Dean.

"I have stuff in my bedroom," Dean whispers between kisses. Cas has no other reply but to take him there. 

He throws Dean down on the bed before ripping off the rest of Dean's jeans and underwear. After tossing the garments aside, Cas moves his hands back up Dean's bare legs before standing fully over the man's splayed body and begins to unbuckle his own pants, making sure to keep full eyecontact as he pulls down the zipper. That's when Dean closes his gaping mouth and sits up, those beautiful abs working so magnificently that Cas let's go of a small moan even before Dean reaches his hips and begins tugging down the pants and underwear himself. Cas let's him, small gasps escaping his lips as Dean's calloused hand ghosts over his hardness not so accidentally.

As soon as Cas kicks out of his shoes and scoots out of his socks in order to pull off the pants, kissing Dean the entire time, he's upon Dean. He climbs onto the bed on all four, eyes locked on Dean's as he moves him back on his back until he's hovering above him. Their cocks slide together so perfectly on Dean's pelvis, touching so slightly but still causing Dean to moan out, those eyes going glassy with want. Cas bites at Dean's neck at that, wanting to suck and mark every part Dean's body right now. 

"N-nightstand," Dean stutters out, his hands pressing into Cas's lower back, causing him to move forward a little and rub their dicks together once more. Dean moans, "Fuck, Cas, I need you now!"

Cas looks up from where he's kissing at Dean's tan skin to see the nightstand just ahead. He knows he should communicate with Dean, ask him to scoot up so they can lay properly on the bed and so he can reach the drawer. But why would he say all that when he can just push Dean to where he wants him? And that's exactly what he does.

Dean gasps in surprise at the unexpected show of strength, but Cas doesn't dwell on the compliment that is Dean's aroused face. Instead he directs the rest of his attention that hasn't been completely consumed by lust on getting the lube and condoms. He tosses them on the bed and returns to Dean's mouth, mapping it out with his tongue as he grapples for the lube, squeezing some on his fingers. 

Dean gasps against Cas’s mouth when he presses the first finger against the opening. Cas feels Dean hike his leg up on his hip and it’s all too easy to push past the nerves and into Dean. 

There are moans of great pleasure and grunts of slight discomfort quickly fixed while Cas preps Dean. Their mouths meet and wonder and hands unoccupied with other duties searching body parts still undiscovered. Dips of spines, superb ridges on the abdomen, and thick muscles all along the hips, buttocks, and thighs are caressed with kisses of fingertips and fingernails while Cas works a third finger into Dean. They’re both shimmering with sweat in the dark, their mouths licking away each other’s exertion as quickly as it appears.

And then one particular hitched moan that escapes from Dean’s perfect lips onto Cas’s jaw tells him it’s time. Slipping his fingers slowly out of Dean, Cas reaches for a condom. He licks at a nipple as he puts it on and applies lube. Dean is past words at this point, but Cas can hear all he needs to in those breathless, gruff moans that tell him to hurry the fuck up. And as Cas finally presses up to Dean, his legs wrapped persistent and shaking around Cas’s hips, their eyes meet and Cas remembers a smeared deja vu of their wedding night. Cas breaches Dean.

It starts out slow with Cas on top, but when he finds Dean’s prostate there is no amount of strength that could keep Dean from rolling them over. Dean sits on top of Cas, his hands on either side of Cas’s head as he rocks back and forward. Cas is relatively quiet, his mouth hanging open slightly as he watches Dean fuck himself back on his cock. Dean, on the other hand, is a constant string of cursing and moaning above Cas. And then Cas snakes his arms around Dean’s middle and sits up. Dean is on his lap still, but Cas is in control. His eyes are half lidded as his arms have stronghold on Dean's back in a commanding, intimate wrap as he looks up at Dean’s beautifully flushed potty mouth through the dark.

“God, baby! Fuck, I can feel you so fucking deep! Fuck, Cas! More, more!” Dean moans, his own arms tangled around Cas’s neck for leverage, fingers grabbing at Cas’s thick hair for purchase. One of Cas’s hands that had been holding onto Dean’s back for dear life grabs onto Dean’s bicep instead as they hit a perfect rhythm, Dean slamming down onto him right as he thrusts up at a pace that's dragging but quick enough. 

Dean’s screaming now, the perfect angle and best rhythm making them both unravel, nails digging into giving skin before Cas removes his other arm from Dean’s back to instead feel at his leaking member, trapped between their gyrating bodies. Their foreheads bump together as their pattern gets quicker, shorter, deeper, higher. Cas closes his eyes and locks his muscles, feels Dean’s thighs clench once more. Everything is pulsing and rough, beautiful in it’s destruction and reconstruction of their minds and bodies as they become one. And then, through the haze of love and lust that all seem so indistinguishable from one another at this point, Cas hears Dean’s gravely sex-beaten voice say calmly, “Look at me, Cas.”

With a tremendous amount of effort, Cas let's his lids flutter open their eyes meet, foreheads touching, and then all the emotions crescendo inside of Cas’s core. Dean is silent now as Cas let’s out an anguished yell of passion as they cum, first Dean and right behind him follows Cas. Their movements together stutter to a stop, Cas deep inside of Dean and feeling it all release. The clenching in Cas’s pit loosens as he looks into Dean’s eyes and finds in there the answer. The emotion that had been choked by the clench isn’t gone, though, but instead curled itself around Dean, just as Dean is wrapped around Cas so tightly and perfect—perfect just for them. And Cas knows that’s a tie that will last for a long time, that might never get cut.

“Kiss me,” Cas breathes, and Dean does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs featured in this chapter that I do not own:
> 
> "High Voltage" by AC/DC  
> "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers  
> "Little Less Conversation" by Elvis Presley  
> "You and I" by Lady Gaga  
> "Take Me Out Of The City" by Dawes


	5. Livin' Devil May Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be Dean's POV

For once in this pathetic tale Castiel's life is not a bad cliche. He doesn't wake up to a blow job, to a cuddled warm body that presses perfectly into him like a missing puzzle piece, or even of an empty bed with the promise of coffee and sounds of rough humming and sizzling bacon that lead him to the kitchen for lazy kitchen counter/morning sex. Cas is woken up instead from an aggressive banging at the front door, sweaty and uncomfortable from a heavy body sprawled over him. And also there’s dry semen all over his abdomen. _Perfect._

The knocking persists and there’s some garbled raised voice that Cas can’t distinguish through his sleep haze, but he’s pretty sure it’s calling for Dean. Cas groans and moves his hands up and down Dean’s back to wake him up as gently but as quickly as he can manage.

“Dean,” Cas says, desperately trying to cling on to some semblance of sleep, “Someone’s at your door...”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, surprisingly clear and awake. He cuddles up to Cas a little closer, his nose poking against his neck as Dean whispers, “I was hoping that they’d get the idea and go away.”

Cas hums, seeing the logic in Dean’s avoidance only because he’d really enjoy that morning blow job, no matter how cliche. However, Dean and Cas receive another source of banging that’s not at all sexy and instead incredibly annoying and persistent.

“Dean! Come on, open up! I know you’re home!”

Cas groans through the thinning sleepy haze as the doorbell follows with it's annoying mantra and gives Dean’s bare back a squeeze, grumbling, “Dean. They’re not going to leave.”

Dean moans unpleasantly but pushes off of Cas anyway. He feels Dean’s weight leave the bed and cracks an eye open to see his beautiful body in the morning light that also takes a gander through the window. The man pulls out a pair of pajama pants and an AC/DC shirt from his dresser before turning back to Cas, catching his gaze. They look at one another for a moment, ravishing the other's image with the mutual dried cum and eyes of pure passion. The caller interrupts their exchange once more with his insistent ringing of the doorbell. Dean groans and begins walking out the bedroom door, stumbling into the clothes as he calls back to Cas, "Go get a shower while I deal with this bitch."

Cas watches the door to the bedroom even after Dean has left, only giving a token effort to get up when another set of knock and rings is cut short by the noise of Dean opening the door and barking, "What?"

He doesn't listen any further though, knowing this is probably something private to do with Dean's life that he shouldn't yet intrude in. Besides he has his own problems to sort out, and a nice hot shower will definitely help with that.

However, before Cas can even enter the bathroom connected to Dean's bedroom he hears an all too familiar voice from out in the hall that is distinctly not Dean's. He doesn't want to eavesdrop, but that rumbling tone has Cas too curious to resist. He swings his legs off the bed and quickly grabs his jeans and white undershirt from the floor. As the voices grow and simmer in a tortuous pattern Cas feels his heart begin to hammer faster and faster as his fingers fumble with the jean’s zipper almost as badly as last night.

Finally, clothes downed, Cas peeks out of the bedroom and down the hall to the foyer. There stands Dean, with his gorgeous pajama clad ass, and he’s talking to—

Remember all that puke Cas had rejected in this past week? Well, it all comes rushing back in this gorgeous fit of nausea. Because towering over his hot-mystery-cowboy-stripper-husband is Sam Winchester. Castiel goes pale as his mind's jaw hits the floor.

They’re talking under their breath until Sam finally bellows out something and Dean tells him to lower his fucking voice. They haven’t noticed that Cas is there and for a moment he considers just stepping back into the bedroom, pretending that he didn’t just see his divorce lawyer talking to his newly wedded husband whom he had earnestly implored Sam to annul him with at his earliest convenience. That situation would be far less embarrassing. But curiosity is a greedy emotion. Cas must know why Sam is here. A horrible thought comes to Cas's mind before he can censor himself. Are Dean and Sam...lovers? No, but Sam is with that nice girl, Jessica was her name? Well, a girlfriend had never stopped Cas from sucking dick, now had it? He must make a grand entrance, to implore Sam on the meaning of his coming, to find out the truth about him and Dean! Yes, that will be the only way he’ll get any answers out of his lawyer’s mysterious relationship with his husband and the meaning of his sudden visit!

“Uh,” is what stumbles out Cas’s graceful mouth.

Both Sam and Dean whip their heads around to the noise at the same time. Dean’s eyes are hard and furious and his brow scrunches at Cas in an almost menacing way. Sam’s eyes bug out and he barely stifles a gasp. He looks like a fish trying to breath above water, but Dean finds words first, “Cas, go back in the bedroom. I’ll be there in a minu—”

“Dr. Novak?” Sam interrupts Dean, gaping at Cas.

“Sam?”

“‘Dr. Novak’?” Dean scrunches his face at Sam.

“Dean?” Cas says slowly.

“Cas…”

“‘Cas’?”

“Sam.”

“Dean!”

“Sammy.”

“'Sammy'?” 

“Dr. Novak.”

“Ok, enough with the Rocky roll call!” Dean shouts, putting his hands up and looking back and forth between Sam and Cas. There’s a quiet that falls over the three of them for a moment while Dean glares at the two, making sure neither of them will interrupt him this time. Finally, Dean says in a wavering voice that’s obviously an effort to subdue, “Will someone _please_ tell me what the fuck is going on here! How the hell do you two know each other?”

“I wish to know the same thing,” Cas demands.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s my line, Dean,” Sam interjects.

“Well I fucking said it first so how ‘bout you two start forking over some answers!” Dean barks. He looks between Sam and Cas again, but neither of them seem to want to be the first to speak. With a sigh, Cas begins, “Sam is my divorce lawyer."

Dean’s brow furrows. He pinches the bridge of his nose and says in a much calmer but still confused voice, “Wait, I thought you said you divorced that Meg chick years ago?"

Cas sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. He hates explaining all of this, “I did, but the divorce was long and messy. Sam just recently officially closed the case. We've remained acquaintances and I've become his family doctor."

“And also you just called me about an annulment,” Sam adds. Cas glares at him. Sam's jaw snaps shut. 

There’s a beat of silence. Dean looks up at Cas with eyes that rip up a bit of Cas's soul and throws it to the wind. His voice is the epitome of sorrow as he says, “You called him for an annulment?”

Cas takes a deep breath and holds the gaze as he breathes out, “Dean, it was before yesterday. I told you back at the bar that I didn’t wish to continue the relationship, and once I left I was hysterical and called Sam and—”

“Oh my god,” Sam interrupts. He’s looking between the two frantically, backing up slowly until his back hits the door. Cas and Dean watch him, one with confusion and the other with fear that triggers even more confusion from Cas. Sam puts a palm against his temple as he gapes and asks, "Dr. Novak. Dean is the, the—”

Cas understands. And measuring by Sam's response it's looking more and more like these two have slept together. His countenance becomes solemn as his strong voice finishes Sam’s sentence, “Dean is the husband I was referring to, yes.”

Sam stares at him. This big, 6 foot 4 inches of man with floppy long brown hair in a suit that’s askew and rumpled from travel, just stares at him like a kicked puppy. Cas fidgets under the scrutiny. This is going to be incredibly awkward if his theory _is_ correct and Sam and Dean are lovers. But then Sam closes his mouth and turns his eyes towards Dean.

“You’re gay?”

Well, there goes that idea.

“Oh, fuckin' hell,” Dean mumbles, turning away from Sam. 

“No, no, Dean we have to talk about this! You like men?”

“Sometimes! Yeah! That a problem?” Dean roars.

“No, no, of course not, Dean! I just—” Sam says, trying to reach out to Dean. Dean literally slaps his hand away. His eyes are set in a fury that Cas could have gone his whole life without seeing. This is just scary, and Cas knows scary, he does come from the Novak family after all. But this is not a Dean Cas ever wanted to ever experience, didn't even know existed! This Dean advances into Sam’s personal space, and hisses, “You just what? Decide to leave and then reappear years later out of the blue? You just think that you can come back into my life and you’ll know every goddamn thing about me? 'Surprise, Dean!' I don’t think so. Hate to break it to ya, Sammy, but that’s not how a family works!”

Silence. It’s awful and sad. Cas just stares at the two of them, knowing that he’s encroaching on a personal moment, and isn’t that exactly what he didn’t want to do? He’s about to leave them be, attempt to detach himself from the situation that now only slightly involves himself. And yet there’s something about Dean’s speech that makes him stay, gives him courage to dig his hole a little deeper, to pipe up and ask, “Family?”

Dean and Sam both break away from their glare battle and turn to Castiel as if they’d forgotten he were there. There are tears in Sam’s eyes that he swipes his palm over. Dean doesn’t meet Castiel's gaze as he gestures towards Sam and says, “Sam’s my brother.”

Cas breathes an "oh". Well that's at least slightly less awkward than a lover. Cas nods shortly and looks down at his hands. There's still that metal ring around his finger and it still makes Cas's stomach do a backflip. He studies it, tries to ignore the distilled air that has now filled the room. Something has changed again. Something permanent. Just like at the beach yesterday, everything has done another 360, but now in an insidious direction instead of prosperous. Though it’s not something that Cas could even try to put into words, but he feels it rising over him like a giant wave the ocean summons that will destroy everything in its wake. Cas wishes he could fly away from this heaviness, this change, this something.

"Dr. Novak," Sam timidly says after a moment, "how could you not know that?"

"What?" Cas asks, looking up from his ring. Sam's face is scrunched in confusion. He takes a deep breath and looks between Dean and Cas again, searching their eyes for answers that he won’t find. He continues, "Well, we have the same last name. And I told you I was going to go visit my brother...I mean, I don't mean to undermine your intelligence, but how did you not connect the two?"

Cas furrows his brow now and it's his turn again to be confused. He cocks his head to the side and replies, "I..." His eyes bulge a little. _Woops._ Cas realizes he doesn't even know Dean's last name. Well, he didn't. Not until now, at least. He feels like a child. Anna was right all along. He was so stupid. 

"...I didn't know Dean's last name until now,” Cas monotonously finishes. He tries to find meaning in the floorboards. There’s a silence now that falls all on Cas. 

Sam breaks the silence in the same soft, patient voice he had used when Cas had been upset about Meg’s resignation towards the divorce, “Wait, Dr. Novak...Cas. What about the marriage license?”

Cas looks up again, “Marriage license?”

“Yeah, didn’t you see Dean’s name on the marriage license?” 

“I-I don’t have a marriage license,” Cas stumbles as an answer.

“Maybe Dean has it then?” Sam asks, turning to Dean now. Dean shakes his head, but his eyes are trained on Castiel. Castiel looks away quickl. He thinks tears will burst from every orifice of his body if he looks into the those green expanses right now. He feels ashamed, naive, and hoodwinked. Sam tries in vain to continue on the conversation about the meaningless license, talking about how it’ll be even more difficult to be annulled without it, or impossible. Neither Castiel nor Dean listens. Sam falls silent. The quiet is heavy and dense and Castiel feels his tongue run short. Once upon a time Castiel could talk his way out of any situation. His wit was sharp and he spoke several different languages fluently. Now, though, Castiel finds himself completely unable to even conjure up one word that is sufficient enough for the situation. Dammit, he can’t even look into Dean’s eyes. Into his husband’s eyes. And that’s the whole mess, isn’t it? That Dean is his husband. Dean doesn’t know that Castiel speaks other languages, he doesn’t know that Castiel is smart and clever when he’s not stumbling over himself to reply to Dean. He doesn’t know Castiel. They can’t stay married. This was a fantasy. A ruse. A bad act. It all had been.

Castiel looks up. Dean is looking at him in earnest. He knows what’s about to come, knows this is it. They had been kidding themselves last night, acting in a sad dilluded play. Castiel has to finish his script now, just say his lines and it’ll all be over. There isn’t going to be any breakfast with kisses to the nape of the other's neck. There isn’t going to be a happy ending and there’s never going to be a happy Castiel. There’s going to be Anna saying I told you so and there’s going to be his depressing job in L.A. with dying children Castiel will try to save but rarely succeed. There's going to be some man named Castiel who wants to be called Cas, dying alone with only the memory of a bad trip to Las Vegas's smeared kiss to keep him company at night. This is the end of the fairy tale. Draw the curtain the play is over. Forget the bow, forget the encore. So long to dreams of warm arms and tickled breath. So long, Dean.

Suddenly there’s a loud clap of thunder from outside. Nobody notices. This is it, all Castiel has to do is say his line:

“I think I should go.”

Dean let’s out a sharp exhale of defeat and it’s over. Sam makes a short burst of a passionate intent to stop Castiel. Castiel simply puts up his hand and Sam falls quiet once more. Castiel turns back to the bedroom. He finds the remainder of his clothes on the floor and puts them on methodically. Wind gusts against Dean’s bedroom window and the bright sky that had only minutes ago been so bright and happy now has turned dull and pale in the presence of the oncoming clouds. Castiel texts Anna, asks her to come pick him up in the rent-a-car down at some street called Tropicana he remembered they'd passed last night. She replies shortly after with an affirmation and also a complete essay asking him where he had been last night, why hadn’t he called, if he was alright, and that he had better not have slept with Dean. Castiel turns off his phone and heads towards the bedroom door.

Dean and Sam are standing in the foyer silently. They both look up when Castiel emerges in the hallway. He slowly moves past the two to the door and opens it. Dark storm clouds are rapidly billowing overhead, covering the crystal blue desert sky. Castiel turns his head towards Sam but doesn’t look at him as he says, “I’ll call you about the annulment.”

“Cas,” Dean grabs at Castiel’s forearm. It is then that Castiel remembers the first morning, the quick nauseated escape. How has anything changed since then? It hasn’t. And that’s the sad truth. Castiel thinks that maybe that thought resonates through his eyes, because when he looks at Dean the grip loosens and there’s some semblance of mirrored understanding in the green.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mutters. Dean takes a deep breath. Castiel’s arm falls limply out of Dean’s hand. His mouth is dry and his wit is no better than before, but he still attempts an explanation. Dean deserves that much, “Dean, I…”

Dean looks up then, hopeful. God, why is this so hard for Castiel? He tries to explain everything through his eyes once more. What this has meant to him, what it will always mean. And that’s why Castiel has to go. It’s not running away, it’s just too complicated. This was stupid, they should have both realized that so long ago. Why didn’t they then? Because they’re in love? Please. Castiel has already made that mistake. There’s no more childish games to play, no more hot nights of equally hot sex. The stage lights begin to dim on stage.

Castiel’s mouth scrunches up. He fights back not vomit, but tears as his shaky voice carries out, “I don’t know you.”

The arm is pulled away. The door shuts behind Castiel. The curtain falls.

###### 

Anna had been quiet and reserved when she picked Castiel up from the 7/11. When she did prompt an explanation Castiel told her everything in simple sentences. She didn’t appreciate his Hemingway dialogue and had gone into a long speech about how fucked Castiel was. Now she was loud and mean. He honestly didn’t care, didn’t listen. It was rude and immature, but, then again, so is life. He rests his head against the cool car window and watches the morning sky darken with the large storm clouds being ushered in overhead. It's fascinating that the desert gets so cool when a storm approaches, and yet nothing feels cool. Everyone and everything actually seems to be bustling more, vibrating with more energy. The usually still air is now being thrown to and fro, bending the palm trees into submission and kicking up every particle of dust in its whirlwind. Somehow this makes all the inhabitants just as flighty, and it seems like they're ants trapped in the tunnels of their underground sanctuary as water begins to trickle down into their unprotected homes. And like a little boy with anger management issues, Castiel finds solace in watching them scramble.

Once Anna realizes that Castiel isn't listening she falls silent. Somehow that's worse for Castiel. He closes his eyes and tries not to think of the look on Dean's face when he closed that door.

He doesn't remember Anna ushering him into the hotel room, doesn't remember her saying she'll be back later because she has to go check her placement in the competition, doesn't even remember the lack of her presence after she left. 

Overreacting. That's what Balthazar had called it when Castiel had sex with Meg's boss. Castiel wondered if that's the same thing Balthazar would say now. He thinks about calling him for all of two seconds before forgetting it. Why would he call someone to be told something that he already knows? He knows his reaction was childish. That's how he is, apparently. Stupid. He doctors children when really he is one. How ironic. And why is he acting so outrageously callous as a response to this very delicate situation? Because it was the first time in his life that he found acceptance? Happiness? Genuine interaction? Love? 

Jesus, talk about an overreaction. 

With a roll of his eyes he starts undressing. He doesn't want to be in these clothes one more moment, too fresh a memory of the shit storm that has just passed through his life. Just then the first rain drops start to smack loudly on his hotel's patio. The universe is mocking him. Oh, the humanity.

Naked isn't any better. The residue from Dean's dried cum is still stuck to his abdomen. Ah, there's that infamous puke bubbling in his empty stomach. As soon as he can he jumps in the shower. It's hot and long, and Castiel may or may not let a few silent tears fall.

With towel haphazardly rapped around his waist Castiel exits the shower. Anna still isn't back and the rain is still coming down in sheets. Castiel sighs just because he feels like it needs to be done. He goes over to his suitcase and begins sifting through the contents for some relaxing clothes. Pulling out one article of clothing after another he can't find his damn pajama pants. Then, he pulls out balled up black material. It's familiar, and Castiel pauses at it. He unravels it to find it's the dress pants he'd worn the morning of Dean's appearance into his life. That means he also wore them when they got married. He holds the pants up and notices the metal on his left hand once more. Slowly, he takes the ring off and gingerly places it on the floor.

He begins folding the pants. It's then that he feels something that is nothing like the material. It's in the pocket area, hard but flexible. Hesitantly, Castiel reaches into the pocket. He feels at the corner of a piece of paper. He feels at the corner of...

Of...

_Oh, God,_ Castiel thinks. He pulls out the Marriage License. It's on a pink slip with both Dean and his signature sloppily signed. Dean Winchester. _Woops._

Castiel falls back against the foot of the bed on the floor. The towel loosens around his waist but he doesn't care. His hands shake as he holds the piece of paper up. He looks at it like he would look at Dean. This is all he has left.

"I'm sorry," Castiel chokes out. He bites at his lip but it doesn't stop the tears. He loves Dean. And it's so unfair. He loves Dean and he's destroyed it all. And for what? Because he's too proud to be the product of a cliche? Because he's scared of being rejected? Because he thinks love and care can't grow from another human toward him, much less sometime he's known for a week? It's all gone because of Castiel's hesitance. That's the real childish part, it's Castiel's need to feel grown. And even after this too late recognition he still loves Dean. Woops. Woops. Woops.

He gets dressed. The pink slip watches him from the floor with his wedding ring as he slips on anything comfortable. He's not feeling sad anymore, or mad, or self loathing or grief or anything. He's numb. 

The chair bumps along the carpeted floor as Castiel pulls it from the desk to the glass patio door. The ice clinks softly as he drops a few cubes into the complimentary tumbler along with the soundless brown liquid. The cushion sighs under Castiel's gentle weight as he sits down, drink in one hand and marriage license and ring in the other, to look outside.

When Castiel was a child he liked to watch. For him, watching grass grow or paint dry was his favorite pastime. He would sit for hours and just watch his ant farm grow, or at recess he would most commonly be found sitting on the bench and watching children. To him, there wasn't much difference between the two. He got bullied for his odd gaze throughout his schooling. It got to a point where even his parent's were the perpetrators, finally sending him to a psychologist. The woman had asked him several questions about what Castiel thought was right and wrong. Castiel answered dully and honestly, the entire time just watching the moisture collect on the glass of water he'd been given at the beginning of the session. When the psychologist had asked him to look up it was right when the droplets became too heavy and rolled down the slick side of the glass to the table. Castiel hated the psychologist at that moment, being pulled away from such a crucial moment. The psychologist had asked why he looked at things so much. Castiel scowled and said simply, "There are so many beautiful things, they deserve attention." Castiel was assigned a weekly therapist a few days later. He had been 11.

The staring didn't minimize, though, until the middle of high school when Castiel was put into an internship program at the local hospital per the recommendation of his Anatomy teacher. It was there that Castiel realized he wanted to study medicine. His attentive eyes soon were drawn to one specific thing: health. He saw so many amazing people, he couldn't stand the thought of them dying at the hands of sickness and malpractice. It was only later in medical school that Castiel realized adults weren't all too worthy of such attentive care and chose to become a pediatrician. It was after he narrowed his gaze that Meg found him, when he stopped seeing a therapist, when he started getting good grades, and when his parents stopped treating him like a stranger once more. It seemed like all of Castiel's problems had been fixed, and all at the expense of never staring at something for too long again. And yet, Castiel had become unhappy. He wanted to stare, to gaze upon the world's minute beauties. And so something in Castiel died that year. Fortunately, it was a sadness that could be easily ignored with Meg's body. Unfortunately, Castiel couldn't help himself from still staring at two things: the stars, and the rain. He grew up in southern California so neither were too common, but when he got the oppurtunity he would stop everything he was doing and stare and their commanded glory. He would sit on the edge of his bed next to his window and just watch the rain fall from noon until midnight. Sometimes he cried at the beauty. Nobody ever bothered him when he got like that. Castiel was happy. 

Now, Castiel sips the brandy and watches the rain fall heavily onto Las Vegas's head. The mountains are hidden behind the massive clouds that wrap their arms about the desert, washing the usual brown and tan into a soft gray. This gray is only penetrated by the intense neon lights from below of The Strip. Castiel can clearly see Las Vegas Boulevard from his seat, backed up by the forces of weather. The headlights mix and mingle with the flashing illuminated signs of casinos overhead into the wet asphalt, painting a portrait of Nechis proportions. Las Vegas is finally alive. It's beautiful. Castiel watches. All he can think of is Dean's eyes.

The door opens from behind Castiel.

"Well, fuck," Anna huffs. The door closes and there's ruffling and some other noises. From outside there's a car crash that occurs at an intersection between the Mirage and Luxor. Castiel watches it and thinks of Dean's hands. His smile. His nose. His freckles. His laugh and tender touch. All the things he's going to miss so much. An ambulance and police car arrive on the scene. 

"Castiel! Castiel, are you even listening to me?" Anna yells from behind him. Castiel turns his head and looks at Anna apathetically, "Hm?" Is all he can muster.

She huffs and puts her hands on her hips, "You know, it's no weirder that you do that watch thing now as when you were a kid."

Castiel waits for something else. 

Anna sighs, "I lost the tournament. We're going back to L.A. tonight. I've already booked our flight. Get packed."

Thunder claps outside, and Castiel's sad that he missed it.


	6. I'm the Devil

The door’s coated with old white paint. It’s stupid. And it isn’t like staring into Cas’s eyes. Dean blinks at the door as Cas’s final brutal words begin to sink in. 

_”I don’t know you.”_

He’ll never see those baby blues again. He just has some stupid, ugly door.

“Dean?” Sam whispers gently. Dean rolls his eyes and turns away from the door that just got slammed in his face by his husband. Well, soon to be ex-husband. Dean pushes past his dumbass brother to the kitchen. He needs some goddamn coffee. Or scotch. Both. Both is good.

The dark brown liquid of the instant coffee fills the off-white mug slowly. He checks his liquor cupboard to find that he’s out of scotch. Great. God, is he really that piss poor that he can only afford shit? Of course, because he is shit. He takes a sip of the coffee and turns away from the counter, almost dropping the fucking mug when he sees Sam standing behind him, large body timid and hestitant. Fuck, he’s gona give Dean a goddamn anxiety attack someday.

“Dammit, Sam! Why are you still here?” Dean barks.

Sam’s pitying expression contorts into one of many notorious bitch faces so fast it’s like Dean had flipped a switch on. He’s glad to see at least that hasn’t transformed into some pretentious ivy league countenance instead. Sam takes a deep breath and says calmly, “Dean, I’m here for a reason. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m a huge part of this whole Castiel and you being married thing now.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,” Sam almost hisses. Dean sips from his coffee contemplatively, then soaks his next remark in all the sarcasm he can muster, “Yeah, y’know, you’re right. Haven’t seen you in, what? Five years?”

“Six…” Sam sighs.

“Oh, right, six years. But pfff! Who’s countin’? So, haven’t seen or heard from you on this side of half a decade, but y’know what? Since you’ve been so fantastic in taking the initiative to finally talk to your—what was the word you used again? ‘Putrid’? ‘Disgusting’?”

“Dean.”

“Oh, no! That’s right, I remember! Since you’ve finally taken the initiative to talk to your ‘embarrassment of a family’ then yeah! Sit down, take a load off, and let me tell you all about what you’ve missed in my pathetic excuse for a life while you were out in California havin’ a grand ol’ time! I’m sure you deserve a good laugh too so why don’t I just fill you in on my love life while we’re at it, hm?”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam growls. Finally he’s losing his temper. Dean slams his mug on the counter, making the contents slosh over into a gross mess. Dean advances into Sam’s space once more, all pretense of snarkiness vanished as he snarls, “What? What more could you possibly want? I’ve given you everything, Sammy, _everything_! And this is how you repay me? Barging not only into my home, but into my life after running away from your responsibilities? From your _family_? So don’t fucking talk to me about what you’re a part of because you don’t know anything, Sam! You don’t know me!”

The weight of Dean’s last sentence falls on them like a gavel. Dean’s breathing heavy and he hadn’t recognized the prickling of moisture behind his eyes until he finally shut up. Sam is quiet, though, at least that’s something. Dean turns away from him, the fight not gone out but simmering dangerously. He leans against the counter and holds his head in his hand, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“With those argument skills you should’ve been the lawyer,” Sam chuckles out hesitantly after a long bout of silence.

Tears subdued, Dean looks up at Sam with a look that could kill Caesar. Sam’s attempt at a smile falls. Dean reevaluates his liquor cabinet and pulls out the strongest bottle. He pours both of them vodka steadily into two small plastic shot glasses with neon “Welcome to Las Vegas” signs stamped on the side. Dean knows Sam, and Sam, although Dean’s mantra wouldn’t suggest it, knows his brother as well. He might not know the nitty gritty, might have missed out on a few details from his time in ether, but some things never change. Sam won’t leave. Dean won’t kick him out, not really. If anything gets too rowdy they’ll throw some punches. But no matter how much Dean wants to resist it, Sam really is here, and that calls for some heavy drinking.

Dean pushes the glass into Sam hand, avoiding his eyes, as he says with defeat, “What do you want, Sam? And don’t ask for money, I stole those shot glasses from the a crappy souvenir shop.”

Sam takes the glass but doesn’t sip from it, “I’m engaged.”

Dean looks up at that. Sam’s eyes are brimming with tears of exultation. He fights back a smile, but Dean can tell just from his eyes there’s joy bursting from that gigantic heart. It makes Dean sick, and he hates himself even more for that.

“Congratulations,” Dean says, throwing back the glass and grimacing slightly, “Sorry to ‘ave stolen your thunder.”

“Dean, should we really be drinking this? It’s seven in the morning,” Sam says softly. Dean could yell at him about how he can’t fucking reprimand him for drinking in his own goddamn home when Sam himself basically forced entry. Instead, he takes the glass out of his brother’s hand and downs his contents as well. He holds the empty glass to his brother as a toast and says, “Welcome to Vegas, little brother.”

They eventually migrate to Dean’s version of a dining table (a cardboard table with folding chairs), avoiding the couch and bedroom because goddammit Cas just basically ripped himself tendon by tendon from Dean’s heart, give the man some fucking time. They both hold Mexican piss in their hands, staring down at the brown bottles as rain starts to come down outside in Dean’s eight feet of a backyard. Dean secretly loves these desert rains. The spontaneity, the excitement, the refreshment, the change it promises. In Kansas, where he was born but only visited twice after moving to Vegas, rain just means rain. In Nevada, rain means holy-fuck-shit’s-goin’-down-man-the-hatches-motherfucker-let’s-raid-Costco-and-snuggle-up-for-four-days-straight-with-just-netflix-and-lube. Even if it’s just drizzle across the valley, or clouds that loom overhead but never deliver anything, still people scramble like hurricane warnings are gusting in. Dean won’t be surprised if one day the natives go to such great extents to so much as feel a slight bit of moisture in the dry air that they dress up as stereotypically insulting Indians and do a rain dance. But this is a summer storm, and that means it has missed the mountains and will continue to rain for days on end. It’s the ultimate experience, only occurring once or twice during the summer months. Only in a week or so will everyone emerge from their respected hovels and bathe in the fresh air that has not yet been stolen from the greedy rays of sun. Dean wishes he could enjoy it now, too. Of course he can’t, though, not with Cas so freshly gone and Samsquatch fucking two feet away from him, trying to be a comforting brother in his “time of need”. Dean takes a sip of his cheap beer even though he’s not thirsty.

“So engaged?” Dean remarks.

“Yup.”

They both drink.

“What’s her name?” 

“Jessica. You met her, y’know, that one time—”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Seemed like a nice girl.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Had really nice tits, too.”

“Ugh, Dean.”

“Just sayin’,” Dean says, putting up his hands in defense. 

Sam rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and quips, “Well, how would you feel if I started talking about Dr. Novak’s ass?”

Dean sets him with a glare that could melt titanium. Sam merely laughs and drinks some more of the shit beer. Dean grumbles under his breath and does the same.

“But seriously,” Sam begins softly, “you are gay?”

Dean leans back in his chair, looks up at the ceiling, and let’s out a long groan of pain. There it is.

“C’mon Dean, don’t act like that. How old are you, seriously.”

“Old enough to not have this conversation,” Dean says, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re never too old to come out, Dean. Even at 30 it’s—”

“I’m 29.”

“Dean, you’re birthday is in January.”

“Young forever,” Dean grumbles. He pops one of his eyes open when Sam doesn’t reply to find him holding back chuckles. Dean smirks. He lets out a sigh and sits back up, “I’m bi.”

“Hm?” Sam says, full attention back on Dean in under a millisecond. Dean looks at Sam and says clearer, “I’m bisexual, ok?”

Sam looks down and nods slowly. He looks up with a worried brow and says gently, “So, is Dr. Novak your…?”

Dean let’s the pause drag on. He looks around. He scrunches his face into confusion when Sam doesn’t finish his sentence, “My what?”

“You’re...y’know,” Sam gestures helplessly.

“My husband?” Dean supplies. Sam shakes his hairy head and says, “No, no! You’re...y’know…” 

He puts his shoulders into his incomprehensible gestures. Dean tries to think of what a lot of straight people have tried and failed to ask him over the years, and finally comes up with: "My first?”

“Yes!” Sam exalts. Dean immediately starts laughing. Sam’s face falls. Dean laughs harder and harder, hand slamming down on the table for support. Finally, wiping away a tear, Dean looks at Sam and says through bubbling chuckles, “No, no definitely not.”

Sam’s eyes bug, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Sam, I’ve been suckin’ guys since high school.”

“Woah! Woah! TMI! TMI!” Sam bellows, hands coming up to halt Dean’s uncensored mouth. That throws Dean into laughter once more. Sam eventually joins him and they laugh together. It’s a strange yet good moment.

As their shared laughter dwindles down they both drink happily at the awful beer to refresh themselves. A comfortable silence falls where they enjoy the sound of the rain being taken in by the thirsty desert. This is wholly a good moment now. And Dean seems to be in short supply of those these days.

Of course, Sam has to ruin it by opening his big mouth, “I think you should talk to him, Dean.”

Dean sets his eyes on the beer and tears absentmindedly at the label, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Dean, Dr. Novak— _Cas_ —is obviously very upset!”

“So?”

“So, I can tell you are too!”

Dean’s heart flares with anger once again and he looks at Sam to start arguing again about how he has no right to act like he knows what Dean is and is not feeling. But when his eyes glance up he’s met with an equally steeled stare that shoves all the fight out. Dean drinks.

“You got a point or do I have to wrestle it all outta ya?”

“My point is that if Cas doesn’t find that Marriage License then this is going to be one hairy divorce. And it would all go a lot more smoothly if you two were at least on some talking grounds,” Sam persists.

Dean gets up suddenly and says passionately under his breath, “I’m not calling him, Sammy.”

“Why not?”

Dean swirls around to face Sam, bellowing contemptuously, “Because he doesn’t need me, Sam! He was just some lonely drunk baby who needed a piece of ass and I made it go too far because I thought that for once I could be happy with someone! I thought there was something more but I was wrong! Cas made that pretty damn clear when he kicked himself out of my life, or did you miss that part where he ran out of my house! If I call him now I’m not going to get anything but a cold shoulder and spit in my face! So sorry if I decide I don’t need that!”

“This isn’t like you,” Sam says.

Dean lets out a hopeless laugh and yells, “How would you know!”

“Because you’re my brother, Dean!” Sam exclaims, getting up now too as he continues, “And the only thing that's clear to me about this whole situation is that you love him!”

Dean stones his features.

Sam continues in a softer more urgent voice after a moment of uninterrupted silence as a reply, “Dean, you've never been one to get committed, but it took you two weeks to tell Cassie you loved her. Now I know that was a bad time in your life, but I’m just saying I’ve never seen you jump into anything haphazardly without knowing one hundred percent that it was real. You didn’t just need Cas for one night. No matter what you say I know the real you, and you’re fucking smart and knew that you wanted to marry him. I could see it between you two the moment you looked at each other that it was mutual. There’s so much more between you two, Dean… What’s not like you is giving up so easily. You’re letting your emotions dictate that you should let go of Cas when you need to do the opposite! If there’s one thing I've learned about Dr. Novak over the years is that he doesn’t like to face a problem that’s not directly in his face. So get in his face! I promise it’ll be worth it, Dean.”

Dean’s looking down at the ground, trying hard to ignore Sam’s logic. Yes, Dean is a hardheaded buffoon. Yes, if it wasn’t for his annoyingly assertive attitude he probably would’ve never had a drink with Cas after his shift at Serendipity, never would have talked him into a day out, and would have never felt those formidably safe arms around him once more. They probably would have never gotten married either. Dean remembers that night in explicit detail. The way he went out on stage and was immediately drawn to that strange man in his Columbo outfit and the moussed dark hair and blue eyes staring at him with a slack jaw at the edge of the stage. The way the music fell away like every article of clothing as the crowd hooted, how it seemed to be an intimate experience with the stranger even though there were dozens of eyes on him. How they had bumped into each other after Dean’s shift ended and Dean had somehow accomplished getting wasted with the man. How over the bumping of the music in the bar the angel’s name had somehow come out as Casserole. How Dean had not minded because those eyes were looking at him and his hands were on him and those lips were talking to him. How Dean’s filter was completely dissolved by the alcohol and he told him all this. How the man laughed and simply wrapped his arms around Dean. How they kissed so passionately yet softly against the brick wall outside and had muttered things they swore they’d never mutter to anyone else ever again. How Dean felt true and honest and didn't care because for once he felt honest with himself and thus the universe was honest with him. How they had raced to the little chapel and the way Dean slipped that cheap ring onto the man's trembling hand. The man's laugh, the man’s kiss, the man’s hands, the man’s sweat, the man’s heart pounding against his in the soft moonlight that had snuck in through the motel's cheap blinds as they came and fell apart together. Cas’s heart… Dean also remembered the next morning. He never forgot the night after drinking and never got a hangover. Yet, it was still surprising how calm he was to have remembered that he was now married to a stranger, and how weird it was that somehow his heart leapt faster when he realized he woke up to a bed alone. And then that relief when he heard that gravelly voice travel in from the bathroom. He had opened his eyes to find himself looking at that gorgeous man hunched over in the bathroom with the phone pressed to his ear. And then there was the kissing and the passion and Dean thought, for maybe a second, that everything was going to be ok. And then Cas had pulled away so suddenly and just left. Dean had sat down on the lumpy bed and held his head in his hands, thinking about what to do next. He had looked at the motel’s digital clock and realized next was his other job. And then Cas had come back into his life, literally ran right into him. And once again Dean thought it would all be ok…

The thunder roars outside. That’s all over now. Why would he pursue something that’s so achingly obviously over? Yes, Dean is persistent, but he’s also excellent at accepting no more than he deserves.

Sam sees the loss on Dean’s face. He lets out a long breath of defeat and the whole room seems to sag with the somber atmosphere that the silent revelation has created. There’s no more fight because there’s nothing to fight for. 

Sam claps a hand on Dean’s limp shoulder and says, “C’mon, let’s go visit Dad.”

###### 

Before Dean turned 24 he could count on one hand how many times he’d been in a hospital: when he was born, when Sam was born, when his mom died, and when Dean had been electrocuted. 

Now Dean is 30 and he’s lost count of how many times he’s walked through these sliding doors into the cold sterile expanse of the facility where people come to either live or die. _Mostly die_ , his inner demon chuckles. The sound of the rain is muted inside the hospital but still makes its presence known just by being known.

Dean remembers that night when he was 24. Remembers calling Sam with his head bloody and sore from the hospital's service phone, telling him there had been a car accident. Then he was shoved about throughout the hospital, confused and dazed as he was escorted by nurses and doctors alike until he was seated in a hard chair next to that bed in that room. Now, he could tread these halls to that same cursed room with a blindfold on. Sam is silent as Dean leads the way after signing in as visitors, unfortunately with eyes wide open.

The machines blip, bleep, drip, expand, deflate, and are altogether are too loud and excited to be just something that's plugged into the wall. Dean never fails to cynically marvel at how everything inanimate seems to move so lively when the only real living thing in the room is so deadly still. Well, that's also dependent on one's definition of "living". Because plugged into those busy machines that are subsequently plugged into a socket is John Winchester. Dean hears Sam breathe in sharply when he sees the pale figure laying stiffly on the bed. Dean doesn't blame him, the ghostly man doesn't resemble anything like their strong manly father from six years ago.

This person is pale and thin, hair still brown and full but limp against a lax forehead that once dauned healthily frustrated wrinkles. That's all so hard to see, though, through the convoluted tubes and respirators twisting around and into their father's orifices. It's all too eerie, their dad's chest rising and falling a bit too evenly, the lights too fluorescent, the air too sterile, the sheets too crisp. It's too much.

"Jesus," Sam exhales, "Dean... I... I never knew it was this bad."

Dean sighs as if to say "what can you do" before pulling up his chair and sitting down heavily. Sam hesitates before finding another equally as uncomfortable chair and pumpkin it across the room to sit down next to his brother. They sit like this in silence for a moment, just letting their dad's mechanical breathing fill the empty space, the rain completely silenced from in the heart of the facility.

"Some family reunion, huh?" Dean says humorlessly.

"Dean," Sam chokes out through a tight throat, "how are you...paying for all of this?"

They don't look at one another. Dean shifts in his seat, clenching and unclenching his hands on his thighs. Dean clears his throat a and says, "Bobby gave me work at the shop."

"Dean, a simple mechanic's job can't cover this."

Dean picks at his nails, "I got some other work too."

"Hustling doesn't count, Dean."

"No, I," Dean clears his throat and looks at his old boots against the scuffed up white tiled floor. Shit, how can Dean possibly tell Sam he strips? Waiting at some snooty dessert place on The Strip was more embarrassing than shameful, but to actually admit that an old family friend hired Dean to moonlight as a male stripper for a bar Dean and Sam basically grew up in is a little more difficult. And Jesus, Dean already came out to Sammy today how many more bombshells could the kid take in a 24 hour period?

Dean settles for: "Don't worry about it."

“Don’t give me that, Dean. You should have told me about this,” Sam says, the anger beginning to rise in his hushed voice. 

Dean turns his head but doesn’t look at him as he hisses back, “I did, Sam.”

Dean feels the weight of Sam’s gaze on him now as his brother replies, “Not this, Dean. I would have never—”

“Hey, shut it. I don’t want to hear any ‘if, ands, or buts’,” Dean says, turning fully to Sam now. Those puppy dog eyes may be filling with tears once more, but damn Dean’s got to give it to the kid he can hold a gaze. Dean continues, pressing onto his brother because it seems so urgent, so important that he understands, “You were going to college, Sam. I understand you couldn’t also help pay for all this shit. It’s ok though, I got this.”

“Dean,” Sam says in that perfectly reasonable Stanford voice as a tear punches out of his eye and gets caught on the skin under his eye, “how are you paying for this?”

Dean takes a deep breath, “Ellen gave me a job.”

“At the Roadhouse?”

“Yes.”

“What like bartending?”

“...Sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’? What does ‘sometimes’ mean?”

Dean closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, his voice exhausted as he mutters, “Sometimes I bartender...mostly I strip.”

There’s a silence. Every muscle in Dean’s body is clenched. It’s not as bad as the threeway argument between Sam, Cas, and him that morning but damn does it hit in the same ballpark of uncomfortable conversations. Then, an unexpected chuckle. Dean looks up to see Sam laughing through his tears. Dean scowls and punches his brother in the arm, turning back around to face their dad with arms crossed and lip pouting.

“Dean I’m not laughing at you!” Sam says, trying to reign in the laughter.

“Shaddup,” Dean grumbles.

“Jerk,” Sam says as his laughter simmers.

“Bitch,” Dean huffs.

They both look at dad again and Sam says, “So you pay the hospital bills in all one dollar bills or?”

Dean groans loudly and Sam falls back into a fit of giggles once more. Soon, Dean concedes that the entire situation is rather ridiculous by volunteering a few friendly chuckles. Dean and Sam look at each other and the smile that lingers after the laughter is also shared between them. Yes, Dean hadn’t told Sam their dad was in a coma. Dean had called him that night so many years ago but even then it was all so uncertain. Sam had been scared and had wanted nothing more than to drop his classes for the next week and come down to see them. That was the first time Dean and Sam had talked in at least a year even back then. Dean had hated Sam for leaving Dad and him, for going off and being better. But on that night that everything went to shit Dean couldn’t imagine pulling Sam away from his dream. He had told Sam that he would call him in a day or two when the doctors could properly diagnose John. Three days later he called and left a message that he had just been discharged but that Dad would stay in the hospital for a couple more weeks. A week later Dean called again and left another message, saying that Dad wasn’t shaping out too well and he’d have to stay in the hospital for a couple more months. Two months later Dean called and left one more message, asking for Sam to call. He never heard back. Never heard back, that is, until seven this morning.

Yes, Dean hadn’t told Sam their dad was in a coma. He had thought so many times on so many different occasions (usually late nights when he was drunk or had just stripped to a particularly embarrassingly rowdy group of people) about calling Sam one final time and telling him everything. But then that guilt weighed on him that Stanford was expensive, that becoming a lawyer was expensive, and that true family did the best for their family, no matter how difficult. In hindsight, that was just an excuse for Dean. Really, it would have been more difficult to call Sam, to not scream and yell at him and instead to calmly explain that this was just too hard for him, to admit defeat and plead for his brother’s help. Dean was in a constant struggle between wanting his brother’s assistance and comfort and not needing the weight of the consequences. Year after year went by of Dean’s internal indecisiveness until the gap that time created was too large to jump. The bills continued to pile, though, and soon Dean took on the job at Serendipity. He’s piss poor now, yes, but Dad is alive.

Dean touches Dad’s hand. 

If Dean wants to be honest with himself (which he hardly is) he hates this old man. He had always just wanted his blessing, though, his respect. But why? He would have never accepted Cas into the family, much less the fact that his macho son is bisexual. Would have scrunched his brow at Dean and told him to get Cassie back. He remembers so many times when growing up his fantasies about killing him, especially after that one time Sam ran away and Dean couldn’t go outside for days because of the contusions on his face. Now, all of Dean’s life has been sucked away trying to keep him alive, hoping that he’ll wake up like Bobby had when he had been in a comatose for a week after his heart attack. 

Sam touches Dean’s back.

“Dean,” Sam says softly. 

“What’s up, Sammy,” Dean replies casually.

“Is this…” Sam begins. He doesn't continue. That's ok, Dean knows what he’s trying to say. No, no this isn’t right.

Sam exhales slowly. Dean grips onto his dad’s hand harder. He still needs his approval.

"I'm tired, Sammy," he breathes out. His hand is clenching hard into Dad's hand, tears rolling down his cheek gracefully. Dean doesn't notice. He just thinks about his exhaustion and about Atlas. Cas had been the only one to relieve that weight. This weight. Cas made him feel rested, alive, happy, loved.

They breathe in the stale air together in rhythm with John’s respirator. Sam’s hand smooths over Dean’s back.

"We need to talk to the doctor about Dad's state," Sam says softly, his voice moving with his massive hand up and down Dean's back, "If anything I'll take on some of the billing. Don't argue, my practice is established and I have money, Dean. You can quit some of those jobs. I'm going to start being a part of this family again."

Dean nods and swipes his hand over his wet cheeks. He sniffs shortly and turns to Sam with a snarky smile and says, "I was always the one that was supposed to take care of you. When did you grow up so goddamn much."

"Like you said, it's been a long time," Sam says with a squeeze to Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean says, looking at his brother, "Yeah, it has been."

They look at each other for a little while. It's a little gay but Dean can't find it in him to care. He finally breathes in deeply and turns away from Sam. His brother's hand falls away slowly and Dean looks at their Dad's quiet face.

"And then what?" Dean asks softly.

"Then," Sam says heavily as a crack of thunder penetrates through the thick walls, "I call Cas."


	7. With Love to Spare

They tried to get to the airport early, but the rain had made the traffic nearly impossible to penetrate. In the sunset through the dense clouds Las Vegas was washed in a gray scale in which only hints of color found in the reflection that the wet asphalt created when it caught the neon lights. On the drive to the airport Anna had been uncharacteristically, but thankfully, quiet. Castiel had watched the mirrored lights studiously, marriage license tucked neatly in the outside pocket of his carry-on that was snug between his legs and continuously attacking his mind. He dreaded when they finally did make it to the airport, not just because he was leaving a town that held Dean but because he couldn't properly watch the rain anymore. Yeah, that's why.

However, Castiel's dread for the inevitable end turned out to be anticlimactically drawn out. After rushing through security they found that not only had their flight been pushed back for another two hours but nearly every flight was. Suddenly, Castiel's sadness transformed into anxiety. He hated the feeling of having to wait in a place that was going to take him away from all this potential but simultaneously was right where he wanted to stay for longer than was necessary. Anna had merely grumbled and led the way to their gate. Castiel followed quietly, keeping his eyes glued to his shoes until they were seated.

Gratefully, their gate is positioned in front of a massive window that shows the runway with the backdrop of mountains shaded by rain. Castiel tries to concentrate on the serenity of it, but it's hard when there's slot machines dinging loudly right behind him. Seriously, people were gambling even in the airport. This place was a cliche come true. Of course, Castiel really shouldn’t be passing judging.

So here Castiel is, his future in the rearview mirror as he watches it all unfold in front of him in an airport. His knee bounces anxiously and Anna is curled up on the seat next to him asleep. 

The dim moist hues of Las Vegas's nightlife coming alive washes over Castiel's electric mind, and yet his thoughts are still firing off on all cylinders of "what if"s. So nobody can blame Castiel at jumping in surprise when his phone suddenly rings. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and answers it.

"Dr. Novak," Castiel says flatly, expecting it to be the hospital.

"Cas, hi" Sam's voice echoes through the receiver. Castiel slowly opens his eyes and his knee stills.

"Sam. Hello," Castiel says as evenly as possible.

"So, I think we should talk... Can we all meet somewhere? Tonight?"

"I'm afraid not, Sam. I'm at the airport with my sister right now waiting for our flight."

"What? You're leaving Vegas? Now?" Sam says, and Castiel can tell that he's upset, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Yes. I was here because my sister was competing in the poker tournament, but she’s done now so we're returning to Los Angeles tonight," Castiel explains methodically, as if he was talking to a fellow doctor about a patient's treatment after all.

Sam sighs on the other line, but Castiel hears beyond that some hustle and bustle, people talking and an intercom asking for a doctor. The noises are all too familiar, and it gives Castiel a sinking feeling even before he asks, “Sam...Where are you?”

Sam clears his throat and says hesitantly, “The hospital.”

Castiel is immediately on the edge of his seat, ready to get up and run out of the hospital, eyes wide and unseeing as his heart races past his mind, “What? Why? Is everything ok? Where’s Dean?”

“Woah, woah, Dr. Novak! Slow down! Everything’s fine, Dean’s fine. Well, physically anyway… We’re here visiting our dad,” Sam says all at once before tapering out.

Castiel’s heart continues to pound in horror but he forces his body to relax back into the seat. He takes a few deep breaths and says in a voice he hopes is stable enough, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’re father was hospitalized. Will he be alright?”

Sam’s laugh is far away and not meant for Castiel. It’s a little heartbreaking, a little awful, and a little too off. It reminds Castiel of his own emotions right now and that has him more concerned than anything.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sam says, his voice holds a smile but it’s choked out, as if the whole entire ordeal is so sad it’s come back around to be hilarious. Castiel can almost relate.

“Sam?” Castiel says after a moment of silence.

“I never knew it was this bad...I never knew…” Sam says, his voice so distant in tone that Castiel knows he’s not speaking to him anymore. Concern rips through Castiel’s bones because Sam is a friend—his brother-in-law—and he called Castiel, so Castiel needs to be here for him in anyway he can.

“Sam, tell me what’s happening,” Castiel says in a commanding voice.

Sam takes deep, audible breaths that have Castiel hyperventilating. The silence is long but Castiel is patient. Finally he says, “You know...It’s strange. I never wanted to come back here. I don’t know how much you and Dean got to know each other before...you know. The wedding. But we basically grew up in Vegas, and fuck is it a bad place to become an adult. So, y’know, I was desperate to get out. But Dean...Dean just wanted to stay here with dad. I didn’t understand it—Dean hated this place, or at least that’s what he always told me. I think he wanted to get out too, after a while, maybe move back to Lawrence, but then Dad…”

Sam takes another shuddering breath, breaking from his rant. Castiel’s eyes have shifted from the empty runway outside to the people inside, waiting at the gate like Castiel and Anna. There are a lot of people who look like they’ve lost everything, a lot of peppy people with books and phones, a lot of people asleep or looking like they’re on the edge, but not a lot of families. There is one particular family, though, that catches Castiel’s eye. It’s a mother with a sleeping baby held in her arms. She’s rocking him back and forth and smiling down at his face. Sam continues: “About six years ago my dad and Dean were in a car accident. It was pretty bad. Dean was pretty fine, had a broken arm and a concussion, but my dad...I don’t think he’ll ever get better. He’s still in a coma and Dean...Dean never told me. And that’s why he’s stayed here even longer, I guess, to pay for Dad, to keep him alive. But why wouldn’t he tell me? Why wouldn’t he let me help? I mean I know he’s prideful and I was at college and all, but… Anway. That’s why I’m here. Dean finally told me by showing me. And it only took six years. This morning was the first time I’d seen or talked to Dean for that long, Cas. Can you believe that? I didn’t know what I expected… Happiness? No, not from Dean, never… But it was close. Because he has you, you know. Well, had...Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s ok,” Castiel cuts him off robotically.

“Yeah… Anyway, I don’t know what to say. That’s that, I guess. You’re really going back to LA and Dean is really going to stay here. I don’t know, it just started to feel real, and now it’s not real and we have to learn to accept that reality now. It’s...it’s...” Sam trails off. His voice lighter now, and Castiel assumes it’s because he got to verbally acknowledge all the pain that had been welling up inside of him. It must have been hard, to say all those truths, Castiel doesn’t think he could do the same.

“I believe it’s called a tragedy,” Castiel says heavily, eyes trailing from the baby to his shaking hands, “from a different perspective.”

“More like a soap opera,” Sam tries to joke, “I mean we’ve got the gay Vegas wedding, the waking up to a stripper, the run-in, a coma. What’s next, love confessions in the rain?”

“He told you all that?” Castiel asks, trying to will his hands to still. He bites his lip and looks at the baby once more.

“Yeah…” Sam says softly, “We just talked.”

Castiel holds his breath, “Is...Is he there with you now?”

“No, no,” Sam says and Castiel exhales, “He left, said he had some paperwork to do at Bobby’s.”

“‘Bobby’s’?” Castiel asks, vaguely remembering the name.

“Yeah, he’s Dean’s boss at the auto shop,” Sam says. He hesitates a moment and then adds, “I could give you the address, if you’re interested.”

“Why would you do that?” Castiel says, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

“For Ross and Rachel,” Sam says smugly.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel replies. Sam groans and laughs, “Oh man, Dean wasn’t joking when he said your pop culture savviness was severely lacking.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and continues the sane conversation, “I won’t need the address. Thank you, though.”

“Alright,” Sam says quietly. For a moment Castiel thinks this is the end. The end of the conversation, of a chapter, the end of it all. The marriage license still weighs heavily in his mind. He looks at the baby.

“I just,” Sam says suddenly, and then stops. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I just don’t want you to be a Prufrock.”

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s crying until the moisture catches on his chapped lips. He nods even though he knows Sam can’t see him.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel repeats, his voice cracking an octave even lower.

They say quick goodbyes and Castiel hangs up the phone. Even though they’re inside and dry, nobody seems to notice Castiel’s tears and he mentally thanks the rain. His eyes travel from the baby to the runway once more. A shaky plane makes a wayward landing. Castiel glances at the approximate delayed time they will be boarding: an hour late, it indicates. Castiel sighs and closes his eyes as his mind moves from memory to memory, before it lands on the moment he met Sam Winchester. It was a rough time, the divorce with Meg, but it was all made a bit more bearable by Sam’s smile.

“So what’s the story between you two?” Sam had asked after they had shaken hands and sat down on opposite sides of his desk. Back then Sam looked much younger, his hair still floppy and unprofessionally long, not groomed properly like it was nowadays. Yet his kind face shown confidence, and that was good enough for Castiel to feel comfortable enough to spill the beans. He told him everything, down to the nitty gritty of fucking her boss. When he was finished he had leaned back in the comfortable chair, shrugged and had said, “So that’s it. I just didn’t want to be trapped in a fruitless relationship anymore. I wanted to be...more.”

“You don’t want to be a Prufrock,” Sam had commented quickly. Castiel had tilted his head and said, “Excuse me?”

“‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ by T.S. Eliot? It’s a poem, have you ever read it?” Sam inquired, his eyes roamed down to his desk and flipped through Castiel’s file absentmindedly.

“Oh, yes. Back in college, perhaps,” Castiel said with a nod, “It’s the one with that line, ‘Do I dare disturb the universe?’, correct?”

Sam nodded and looked up to Castiel through his bangs, smirking as he said, “It’s actually really a great read, once you get passed all the Dante allusions. Basically, he’s just saying that if you don’t take a leap of faith and try to do something more than exist, if you keep on putting off happiness or love for another day—never daring—then you’re going to grow old and regret a life you’ve wasted as you die alone.” 

Castiel remembered his pulse racing as he looked into Sam’s eyes. The young man had sat up, looked at him and said with an air of self-possessed maturity that Castiel honest-to-God envied: “Do you dare, Dr. Novak?”

The thunder clapped outside and the baby awoke and began to cry. He chewed at his lip and glanced over to Anna, the baby’s cry roaring over the rain and the slot machines, creating a crescendo in his mind as the image of the pink marriage license filled his mental vision. Decisively, Castiel drew his hands into fists and grabbed his carry on. His knees nor hands shook as he stood up, sending a quick text to Sam, reading: “ _can you send me that address please?_ ”

###### 

It had been a nightmare to get a cab in this weather, but somehow Castiel had managed. Sam had sent him the address before he was even out of the terminal, a winky face typed next to it. Castiel had blushed and shoved his phone into his pocket until he needed it later to give the address to the driver. 

Castiel arrived at the shop around 10, and right before the cab driver parked Anna had called.

“Where the hell are you?!” She immediately yelled, and Castiel equally as instantaneously regretted answering it.

“I’m at Dean’s work,” Castiel said evenly.

“Why?! Castiel, our flight is boarding!”

“Go. I’m staying here.”

“What the fuck, why?! Castiel, you aren’t actually considering staying with that person are you?! This is crazy, Castiel, crazy!”

“I know—” Castiel began. He was cut off by the cab driver as he parked, “This is your stop, pal.”

“Anna, I need to go,” Castiel said hurriedly, taking off his seatbelt one handedly and gathering his bags.

“Castiel, don’t you dare hang up on me!” Anna yelled.

“Look, if you want to sit here and talk on the phone, fine, but I’mma charge you for the time,” the cabbie barked.

Castiel quickly said to Anna, “Anna, I’ll see you in LA. Have a good flight.”

“No, Castiel, don’t you dare—” Anna said in a rush before Castiel hung up. He turned his phone off and shoved it into the depths of his bag while grabbing his wallet and giving the man the right amount of money.

“No chance you can wait for me here, is there?” Castiel said as he got out of the cab into the pouring rain.

“Nope,” the cab driver said, pulling away right as Castiel closed the door. He sighed and looked up into the rain’s onslaught. What was he doing? There was no way Dean would take him back after the atrocity of this morning. But Castiel wasn’t Prufrock. He dared to disturb. He wanted to be happy, to take action! And so Castiel took a deep breath and walked up to the darkened garage. 

Everything’s closed up and it looks like everyone is gone, but Sam had said that Dean was here. Unless Dean had lied to Sam. Then what is Castiel to do? All his clothes are currently on a flight to LA with a simmering sister. But Castiel waltzed up to the front door and banged anyway. 

“Dean!” He calls. No one comes.

Castiel continues pounding at the door and yelling for Dean, but he’s afraid his voice is getting lost with the rain and thunder claps. One particular flash of light makes Castiel jump and turn towards the impossibly dark sky. Yeah, this definitely isn’t the brightest idea he’s ever had (no pun intended). He sighs with defeat and steps away from the door. He thinks about turning on his phone and trying to find the closest convenience store, but his clothes are soaked through in the minutes he’d been standing out here and he knows if he tries taking out his phone now he’ll ruin it. So he flips a mental coin and walks down the sidewalk to the left.

It’s late now, and basically all the inhabitants of the strange city have finally given up in trying to penetrate the wall of water, taking refuge in their homes. So the street is basically abandoned, and as Castiel tries to walk against the rain he knows he’s going to get jumped. Where had his mind gone? Had he really been that spontaneous that he hadn’t consider what would happen if Dean wasn’t there, or if he rejected him? Anna was right, again, what is he doing? This isn’t like Castiel. He is no Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be. He’s a Prufrock, poor and pathetic and trying to race back onstage for an encore after the audience has already left. Castiel trains his eyes to the cracked, soaked pavement and tries to not think of Dean. His heart jerks when he realizes the marriage certificate is in the outside pocket of his carry on. He stops in his tracks, pulling the bag in front of him and searching through the pocket helplessly, trying to force back the tears as he sees the pink paper, the only remnant of Dean he has left, is drenched.

Then, something that’s distinctively not rain comes from behind Castiel, but he doesn’t turn, too caught up in the tragedy of the moment. Someone calls indistinctly from behind him, and that nags at his conscious a little but he still doesn’t turn, merely holding the paper in his shaking hands and looking at his ruined future in tangible form. 

“Cas!”

Castiel whips his head around at that and lets out a cry of relief at seeing Dean’s figure racing towards him. He’s actually running towards him, but he slows as he nears Castiel.

“Cas! What the hell! Are you fucking crazy! What are you doing here! Aren’t you going to catch pneumonia or something! Jesus, what the fuck kinda doctor are you anyway!” Dean yells all at once.

Castiel just looks at him. Today he’s seen beautiful things: a drenched Strip, a true city united under the forces of nature, cars reflecting themselves in the wetness of the streets they’re destined to be with forever, an art piece in the sky as Las Vegas transformed from day to night, taxiing planes trying to do their best with what they have, and a night that promises so much just because Castiel wants it to. Yet, none of that compares to the image of Dean, standing in the rain, eyeing Castiel like he’s insane. Maybe he is. It doesn’t matter, because he’s got his encore, and he’s going to make the most of it.

He meekly holds up the ruined marriage license in his hand and says just loud enough to be heard over the rain, “Our marriage license got wet.”

“Who the fuck cares!” Dean yells. Castiel blinks away more than just rain droplets as he hands the limp piece of paper to Dean, continuing, “I’m sorry it’s ruined. I never meant for it to get so bad.”

Dean looks at the offer of the license for a moment as if it’s a venomous snake and Castiel had just asked him to deepthroat it. Then, with his eyes dark in the reflection of the street light’s fluorescence through the rain, he looks at Castiel searchingly before grabbing the license quickly.

The pink slip is completely illegible now, but Dean still looks down at it as he says over the rain, “Aren’t you supposed to catch a flight?”

“No,” Castiel says, taking a deep shuddering breath as he steels himself and finishes: “I’m supposed to catch you.”

Dean’s eyes snap up to Castiel at that. Castiel exhales in anticipation of Dean’s answer. He swallows and says in a thick voice, “You disappeared on me, man. Again.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, well I need to know that that won’t happen! I need something more than that Cas!” Dean suddenly flares.

“It won’t,” Castiel assures.

“Yeah, but I can’t know, Cas! I just can’t!” Dean cuts himself off, breathing in jerkily. He bites at his lip and God how could Cas have been so stupid to let something to divine soil? Dean looks away again, down the empty street and continues, barely audible over the rain, “What are we doing, man? You were right, I don’t know you. We don’t know what we’re doing, Cas. I mean, does all this even seem like it’s really supposed to happen?”

“Yeah, well,” Castiel says, his voice strong, “maybe we’re making it up as we go.”

Dean looks at Castiel. The rim of his eyes red, but it’s not a warning to stay away, instead calling Castiel forward. He steps into Dean’s personal space, leveling their gaze like that night Castiel had come to Dean’s strip club to apologize.

“There’s just something about you and I,” Castiel whispers so only Dean and the rain can hear. His hand caresses Dean’s wet cheek. The rain races down his sections of drenched hair, turning it a dark bronze as the water catches on his brow, licking its way down his lips and chin to spill onto his chest where his tee shirt sticks ever so perfectly against his sculpted body. Castiel’s eyes follow the trail as his fingers brush against a stream on his cheek, interrupting the flow, before making his way back up to Dean’s awed eyes. The man bites his lip and suddenly grabs at Castiel’s hand. For a moment Castiel thinks he’s going to rip it away, shove Castiel to the ground and tell him to never come back to Vegas. But then he rests his forehead against Castiel’s closing his eyes and saying in a huff of harsh air, as if it kills him to admit it, “I need you.”

Castiel has never been good with words. He’s never been good with actions either, but they speak louder in communicating. And with Dean’s confession it’s all Castiel can stand to render him speechless. He doesn’t surge forward and capture Dean’s mouth furiously, instead his head bobs for a moment forward, questioning, before he closes his eyes as well and makes tentative contact with those lips he never wants to be depraved of again. The rain is moist against both their soft lips, gently feeling each others. And as if a crescendo in a tsunami, all at once they come together. Tears fall from Cas’s face as he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him against his body, Dean’s own arms taking Cas’s torso in his arms and presumably never letting go. So if actions are words, this one takes the cake. It’s a sonnet, the symphony, the first love song. It’s passion, love, forgiveness, happiness, home. 

And for once, even as Dean drops the marriage certificate behind him to pull Cas in even closer, he doesn’t think “woops”.


	8. Epilogue: Viva Las Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone who read this fic! and a special thank you to all who've stuck with it from beginning to end (even through my excessive use of edits and lapses in time between so-called 'promised' updates)! so again, thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos, and i appreciate you all so much! be safe, be well, and be happy! 
> 
> xxCROWLEYO

“You’re a dick,” Dean pouts from their kitchen counter.

Castiel grins at him smugly, licking a bit of the apple pie’s filling from his finger seductively before sing-songing, “Love ya too.”

“Ugh, do that finger thing again,” Dean moans.

“Dean, your brother is in the other room. And he’s having a panic attack while he’s in there. Shouldn’t you, oh, I don’t know, be there for him?” Cas sneers as he starts pouring the filling into the crust.

“If you do it again I’ll masturbate in front of you,” Dean huffs sexily. Castiel eyes him for a moment and considers the prospect before the tension is broken with Sam calling from the other room, “Ew!”

Cas and Dean both chuckle under their breath. Cas smacks Dean’s butt as he waltzes closer, trying once again to feign romance so he can get a taste of Cas’s other filling. He points a finger at Dean dangerously and says, “You’re on damage control duty. Go. Now.”

“Ugh,” Dean groans, spinning on his heel and heading to their living room. He turns at the kitchen door, though, throwing a wink at Cas and purring, “But just so you know, you look really fucking hot in that apron with that powder all over your face.”

“Again, ew!” Sam yells. Dean roars with laughter and heads for his little brother as Cas blushes with contentment.

It’s Sam’s wedding day and he’s a little more than nervous. Although he had come to Vegas nearly three years ago to tell Dean the news of his proposal to Jess, the actual ceremony was held off for personal reasons. Dean muses that they were having trouble in paradise or a pregnancy scare, but Cas assumes it has a little something to do with Dean and Cas’s own romantic story. Cas had quit his job at the hospital and opened his own pediatric practice in Boulder City where he and Dean bought a house. It was an easy commute for Cas, but a little longer for Dean to get to work at the auto shop in Vegas. Dean didn’t complain, though, because he loved the drive in his Impala from the small town bordering Lake Mead to Vegas. He once confided in Cas during one particularly loving session of pillow talk that every time he passed that desert scape he played that stupid mixed tape. Their wedding was a year later after all the dust had settled with their new life, and they had a small reception on Willow Beach. It was all very gay, or so Dean had incessantly grumbled, but during their honeymoon to Paris he had admitted it was the happiest moment of his life (and that he also really liked it when Cas spoke French). Even Anna had cried when Dean and Cas had kissed, although she had smacked Dean on the head for picking “Heat of the Moment” as their first song to dance to.

However, today was all about Sam and Jess, and Cas was pulling out all the stops. They were allowing the ceremony to take place in their backyard overlooking Lake Mead, afterwards having the wedding party at the Wynn. Really, being a lawyer really did pay off (literally). And Sam had been so supportive in getting all their legal documents dealt with and just being an all around good guy that Cas knew he deserved the best wedding he could possibly give. That’s why he had been directing the caterers around all morning, trying to set up the best possible meal, and even throwing in his famous apple pie to keep everything that much more homey. But after a while of Cas grumbling and looking stressed out Anna had come over and taken the reins from her grateful brother. 

Actually, Cas was surprised they were having the wedding this year, sure they were going to hold off for a few more months because of Sam and Dean’s dad. After a couple years of reviewing the hospital bills, talking about the moral dilemma, and asking Cas for his professional advice, they had decided to take their father off life support. He had died less than five hours later. The funeral had only been a few months ago, but Sam had said that in such a sad time they had to remember the good things as well. And yet another reason to make this wedding worth it.

Hours later, Sam under control and smiling down at Jess at the alter with newfound confidence, Cas felt true happiness. As Sam and Jess exchanged their vows he thought of time, of insidious dance and yet it’s loving kiss goodnight. For what truly measured time? Was it the how many times the earth rotated around the sun, how many coffee spoons you could fit into a cup, what the calendar or clock read? Or was it so much more than that. Was it how many breaths lovers shared in a matter of minutes, creating an infinite universe in just one breath of ecstasy and passion. Or was it how many times he fingers locked with fingers, how many smile lines one could count and say that was because of me? Was it measured by the number of raindrops that fell in Cas and Dean’s proximity the night everything was made right, or by the seconds it took for Cas to run out of the airport. Cas thought about all of this and as Sam and Jess became man and wife he decided none of it. Time was intangible, not captured by a measurement nor memory. For in one night Cas had met his true love, and that same night they had sealed their souls to one another. In one week Cas had fallen for a stranger, and in one night he had decided to scrap all else before to make so much more.

Dean’s hand sneaks into Cas’s palm and squeezes. Cas doesn’t have to look to know Dean is smiling and thinking the same. And isn’t that what truly drove all of this? Not necessarily that Cas had felt it, but that he had somewhere to share it with. He looked to Dean anyway and saw that trustful smile. Dean looked at him and although he knew that Dean loved him and although Cas knew he loved Dean too, just like turning his head or having a palm reading, he said, “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by winchestersintheimpala's graphics at the tag /aumeme
> 
> take note that gay marriage is not legal in Nevada
> 
> i do not own any of these characters or any likeness to Supernatural
> 
> chapter titles and title inspired by "Viva Las Vegas" by Elvis Presley


End file.
